Daughter of Prophesy
by Dalamar Nightson
Summary: AU: As always, prophesy meddles in the lives of mortals. How little they understand! Chapter 16: Chaos is fought. Kit finds herself confused by many things. Fie still has a trick up his sleeve. Complete except for revisions to earlier chapters.
1. The Night Set Softly

**Disclaimer:** The characters in this chapter actually are mine, as is the plot. The chapter titles do not belong to me – they are the lyrics of the song "Patterns," by Simon and Garfunkle.

**A/N:** This is the first of several re-edited chapters. Upon finishing this story, I realized that I had an immense stylistic change midway through, and that bothered me. Hence, as soon as I finished, I decided to rewrite the beginning. In the future, there will be no major plot changes, though hopefully my rewrites will make the chapters better. As always, a million thanks to Valgorúth, my most excellent beta, who has been an amazing help since I contracted him two summers ago. Please review!

**The Night Set Softly With the Hush of Falling Leaves**

It was a balmy September day when Catherine Night walked into the first day of eleventh grade. The tiny girl sat down at a desk, and tried to ignore the inevitable mocking laughs that insisted on following her throughout life. Though she was sixteen, Catherine looked as though she had only been alive for seven or eight years.

She rubbed her ear temperamentally, wishing that the day that had just barely started would be finished. She sighed, cursing the parents she never knew. The tips of her ears frequently itched her for no particular reason, and she blamed the people who deserted her before she got the chance to know them for that annoyance, along with everything else she hated about her life.

Finally, the teacher entered and began to call roll. Luckily for Catherine, the homeroom stayed the same throughout all of school, so she did not have to convince the teacher that she was actually supposed to be in that class. The woman already knew that she was a freak who never grew.

Eventually, all of the new schedules were handed out, and Catherine stared at hers with trepidation. She had gym, the bane of her existence, first period. Even worse than the fact that she'd have get the 'pleasure' of waking up with torture, the gym was on the opposite end of the school from all of her other classes. Her school system was very small, and had all of the students in the same building. Consequently, grade levels were fairly contained to their own sections of the building. Usually it was a great system that allowed Catherine ample time to get to all of her classes, but getting anywhere from the gym was a hike. Not good news for a girl who was just over four feet.

The bell rang, and Catherine shot up from her desk, throwing her bookbag over her shoulder. It would not do to be late to class on the first day of school! She raced down three flights of stairs across the school building. Finally, she got to the gym, where she sat down with her class. Glancing around, she saw that was entirely composed of juniors and seniors. As always seemed to happen to her, none of the people she was casually friendly with were in her class.

She smirked when she saw a couple of people who had been in her class last year. She'd overheard them talking to each other about the fact that they had failed gym. That was one thing that she could never understand. She'd always gotten a perfect score in gym, despite the obvious physical obstacles that made her a much worse athlete than the rest of her class. She knew from experience that all you had to do to get a good grade was to wear the right clothes and pretend to participate. Shaking her head, she turned back to the teacher, who had just arrived.

The woman was fairly young nad had only been working in the school for a year or two. If Catherine remembered correctly, she was the cheerleading coach. The woman began to take attendance. When she got to Catherine's name, she paused.

"Sweety, they must have put you in the wrong class. There are a few classes with younger grades over there." She pointed across the gym.

Catherine did not have the patience to deal with things like that. Her young face twisted into an angry snarl. "I'm a junior. I'm in the right class. I'm a midget, so learn to live with it." Several of the other students snickered, and Catherine glared at them. It was going to be a long forty minutes.

The rest of the morning passed in much the same fashion. Throughout her classes, Catherine kept overhearing taunts from her fellow classmates. She'd always had abnormally good hearing, though in situations like this it was not always a good thing. Catherine had never been social by nature, which only compounded the problem created by her slowed physical growth.

With all of her heart, Catherine wished that she could be a normal student. She knew that if she'd had a normal growth pattern, she probably would be considered pretty. Her long, black hair framed a pale face in thick ringlets. Her bone structure was delicate, giving her the unnaturally thin appearance so praised in her culture. Her eyes seemed a little too large for her face, and were ever so slightly slanted. Her skin was a milky pale created by days spent reading in the shade of trees rather than running in the sun. Maybe if she looked more like the other students, she wouldn't be so reclusive. Maybe then she would have gotten some more friends.

During her lunch period, Catherine sat alone. She normally tried to have somewhere to go during lunch, but she had not yet had time to visit any of the teachers she normally helped to see who could have a student aide during lunch. So alone she was, left to glare over a book at the air-headed girls who took over the rest of the table. She tried to ignore their insipid chatter of their bodies and their boyfriends. Finally, lunch was over.

After what seemed like much longer than a couple of hours, the day was finished. With relief, Catherine dropped her books into her locker and began to walk home. Because her town was so small, almost everyone walked. Some people drove or got rides, but there was no busing offered. The orphanage where Catherine lived was on the outskirts, but she didn't mind the walk. It was a beautiful day, and no matter what the time of the year was, Catherine loved the feel of the wind blowing through her hair. Besides, it was a lot nicer to be outside then in the orphanage, bored out of her mind.

Catherine walked slowly, savoring the feeling of being alone with her thoughts and nature. She was about to cut into the woods, which would take her the long way home through an overgrown path when she heard a yell. Rolling her eyes, Catherine crossed the street and looked down the alleyway where the scream had originated.

What she saw disgusted her. Two large guys had cornered a lanky kid who she recognized from her gym class. As she knew none of them, she assumed that they were all seniors. The two refrigerator-shaped men were pushing the other kid, and it looked as though they were getting ready to beat him up. Catherine shook her head. Why was it that she was the only one who figured out how to fight? True, she was mostly self-taught, but she was at least able to take care of herself.

Before the immense bullies could throw the first punch, Catherine ducked in under them and stood in front of their target. She had dropped her bag at the entrance of the alley. "What the hell are you doing?" She confronted the large boys.

"Move it, Shorty. We don't hurt girls." The bully snickered, making it obvious that he didn't follow that particular principal of chivalry.

"And I try not to hurt idiots, so I'd suggest you move. Then, we'd both be happy. I'm giving you until ten to move." She traded glares with the larger boys, giving as good as she got until they finally broke out laughing. She rolled her eyes. Why did everyone insist on underestimating her based on her appearance?

Finally, one of the boys moved to shove her out of the way. With an effort to get a firm grip, Catherine grabbed his arm and used his own momentum to spin him towards the wall, away from the boy who was staring at her in shock. The other bully, incensed at her treatment of his friend, swung a punch at her. Catherine dove beneath it, punching at his gut. The older boy doubled over, pain written on his face and hate in his eyes. Ruthlessly, Catherine punched him in the eye and then quickly in the nose. The large boy fell over, curled up in pain.

Catherine straitened, and brushed her hands off on her pants. She noticed that the boy in the alley had not done the smart thing and run while he had the chance. He was now watching Catherine, an emotion akin to awe on his face.

"That was…" His voice held open admiration, but then testosterone and pride took over. "I didn't need your help. I was doing fine on my own. You just had to interfere, didn't you?" By the end of his little rant, he seemed to have realized how embarrassing it was to have been saved by a girl less than half his size.

Catherine just looked at him. "You imbecile. I just saved your skin, and you can't even thank me? Speaking of which, why were you just standing there? If I hadn't been able to handle them, or if some of there buddies had come along, what would you have done? I can't believe that you were stupid enough to just stand there. I should hit you too now, you ungrateful little wretch!" She glared at the boy.

"Little?" He glared at the diminutive girl in front of him with cold blue eyes. "Look who's talking! And I do not need anyone to protect me, especially not a girl ten years younger than me!" He was practically shaking in anger. "Want me to prove it? I'll fight you right now!" He rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt in what would obviously be a futile gesture.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "First of all, I'm not seven. I'm a junior. I'm just short. Second of all, I know how to handle myself in a fight. I've read a lot, and I can pick up techniques easily by watching them. I can defend myself, obviously. Stop being such an asshole." She looked up, giving the brunette boy a glare to match his own. After at least half a minute, Catherine turned away with a scowl and stalked away, sensing that their staring contest could have lasted all night.

Finally, Catherine reached her 'home'. She brushed past the door monitor's questions and hurried to her room. Or at least the room where her bed was. It couldn't be properly called hers, as twelve girls of assorted ages shared the same room. It was an half of the floor of the building, with the boys a floor up, and the dining hall and public spaces on the ground floor below them.

In the room, twelve small beds lined the walls. Around each bed was a space for a dresser and whatever else each girl wanted. There was one other room on the floor, and it housed twelve desks for the girls to work at. At their bedsides, many of the girls had posters of their favorite actors on their space on the wall. Several girls had small plush chairs or rugs on the floor space.

Catherine's space was different. In the small beam of light that came in from the window to hit the floor in front of her bed, she had many small potted plants. She had always had a green thumb, and the plants flourished under her watchful eye. By her bedside, there were stacks of books. Most had been bought with the small allowance that each orphan received, though there was also a sizeable stack that had been taken from the local library.

Climbing onto her bed, Catherine took the top book off of the stack closest to the head. It was a non-fiction, but not so most people could tell. The book was a thick tome procured from the library detailing magic in the Middle Ages. Since Catherine had been young, the arcane arts had always fascinated her. Thus, nearly her entire collection of reading material had something to do with magic, whether fact or fiction.

As she read, she caught herself wishing that the magic could be real, as she often did. Naturally, it was not for lack of trying that she didn't believe in it. For years, she'd tried every spell she'd come across in her non-fiction books, and many from fictional books as well. Once, she could have sworn that she made a spark, but she was never able to make it happen again.

After a few hours, Catherine's reverie was broken by the bellow of Matron telling the world that it was dinner time. Matron was a very annoying woman by Catherine's judgment. She seemed to think that if her orphans weren't babied and coddled, they would become demented criminals. She didn't seem to understand that most of the older orphans would have rather been left alone.

"Cathy! How was your day, sweetie?" Catherine winced at the nickname. She shouldn't have gotten up from her book so quickly.

"Oh, it was wonderful, Matron." She rolled her eyes.

"That's great, darling!" Obviously, Matron had not caught the sarcasm dripping from Catherine's statement.

Dinner passed slowly for Catherine. As in school, she had no close friends in the orphanage. Despite her slow physical growth, Catherine had matured very early mentally, and she frequently found the other orphans childish. It seemed as though she simply had no interest in being friends with the others, and they no interest in being friends with her. Sometimes, Catherine did get lonely, but she often felt that living in her books was easier, and certainly kinder. Besides, with no friends, there was no one to betray you, no one to desert you, no one to disappoint you.

Finally, it was time for bed. Catherine washed up, and curled up under the covers with her book again. After another couple of hours, she shut the book, exhausted. She turned off her reading light and readjusted the pillow. As she began to drift off, she idly wondered if she would have that odd dream again…


	2. Casting Shivering Shadows

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is still not mine. Not that there's much of that at this point. Let's see: the chapter title belongs to Simon & Garfunkle as the last did. The two people I'm about to mention belong to DL. And lastly, something Catherine says later is based almost completely on something from Tamora Pierce's "In the Hand of the Goddess".  
  
Casting Shivering Shadows on the Houses Through the Trees  
  
... Catherine was lying in an unfamiliar room, and had the odd sensation that she was many years younger. There were two oddly dressed adults arguing at her bedside.  
  
"Are you sure? I mean, she's just a child!" The woman seemed horrified.  
  
"Of course I'm sure. It's obvious she's their child! How could the prophesy not be referring to her?"  
  
"Just give her a chance! You can't honestly mean to banish her!" All of a sudden a beeping sound cut through the dream. The man looked at a watch that suddenly appeared on his wrist...  
  
"Beep. Beep. Beep." Then, Catherine realized that the beeping wasn't coming from her dream at all! It was her alarm clock! Damn. She never seemed to be able to finish the dream, though she'd had it several times recently. A few times she could remember that the man said something important, but no matter how hard she tried, she could never seem to remember what happened.  
  
With a sigh, Catherine got up. Time for another day of school. Listlessly, she pulled on clothes, and dragged her tired feet down the stairs to breakfast. She ate quickly, so that she'd be able to lag on her way to school.  
  
Catherine walked along the road slowly, admiring the slowly changing leaves. A bird was singing sweetly in one of the trees. Catherine smiled. Then, she remembered – she had chorus today, not gym. That was good. She loved chorus.  
  
Catherine had a beautiful voice, too mature sounding for her body. She was a first soprano, and could sing higher than anyone else in her class. That was one trait she was happy to have inherited, though she didn't know which side she'd gotten it from.  
  
Catherine knew so little about her history it seemed as though she had just been left on the orphanage doorstep. That was part of the reason she wanted to see the rest of her dream – it seemed as though it was a memory that was being uncovered. She idly wondered who her parents were anyway. Not that she thought she'd ever meet them; she given up the childhood dreams of being a long lost princess waiting to be found long ago. She just wished she knew.  
  
Lost in her thoughts, Catherine never noticed the gang of seniors falling in step behind her until it was too late. "Hey, Shorty!" Catherine jumped, but quickly regained her cool. Never let the enemy know you're afraid. Never. Catherine learned that lesson early.  
  
However, Catherine's cool demeanor couldn't last for too long. The boys backed her into an alleyway. She quickly counted – ten of them. Not the best odds for a fully awake, fully warmed up person, even with their lack of technique and talent. Catherine noted that one had a bruise on his cheek, and another with a black eye. So that's what this was about.  
  
The older boys circled Catherine, and she turned slowly, taking in the physical signs of their fighting ability. "So, this is how many big, buff boys it takes to hurt one shrimpy sophomore girl?" Catherine tried to either distract them longer or goad them into attacking her before they were really ready with her taunts. It didn't work.  
  
One of the boys spoke; apparently their leader. It wasn't either of the boys she'd fought with before. This one was tall and lean, with a natural fighter's stance. He had tightly curled black hair. Catherine thought he seemed familiar, but couldn't quite place him. "You humiliated two of my friends yesterday. Now it's our turn." The older boy grinned, a Satanic gleam in his eye. Now, Catherine turned sheet white. The boys was obviously crazy, and most likely quite sadistic as well. And she certainly couldn't defend herself against this many!  
  
However, she got her feelings under control and got into a slight fighter's crouch. She saw the leader nod subtly, so when the first wave came, she was ready. Catherine spun on one leg quickly, the other leg out. That kept them from coming too close all at once. Once she'd made a full circle, she lashed out at the boy directly in front of her. Charging him head on, she rammed him directly in the groin. When he bent in pain, she leapt onto him and then up to kick the next in the face.  
  
However, even with all of her skill and speed, it wasn't long before the remaining boys got her against the wall above the ground so her feet were dangling. The leader came forward as two of the other boys held her.  
  
"Tired yet?" He asked, still smiling. Definitely sadistic, Catherine thought with dread. However, she was determined to fight until the last. She spit in face. He punched her in the ribs. He laughed at her pained look and her inability to even curl up in a protective ball. He then smiled once more, and sardonically bowed his way back, allowing the boys she'd fought to come to the front.  
  
Catherine gulped, and braced herself for the pain. The first one she'd knocked out the day before came up first. "You bitch! Did you really think you could get away with that?" He smirked, and then punched her hard in the mouth.  
  
Catherine spit out a few bloody teeth, careful not to show her pain. "Oh, aren't you brave! Hitting a girl much smaller than yourself, and no less, when she's being held still by two other 'brave' warriors! They'll write epic poems about you for sure!" She let her contempt into her voice. In honor of her efforts, Catherine got another tooth knocked flying.  
  
Then the next boy came up to her. He had a bandage on his nose, and she could see an ugly bruise on his neck from where she'd chopped him. He didn't waste time talking as the other had. He simply punched her once with each arm, creating twin rings of pain around each of Catherine's eyes.  
  
At that point, they and the rest of the gang took turns hitting her, and near the end, Catherine could barely tell who was who in the haze of her pain. Then however, she saw their leader's startlingly handsome, cold face looming in front of her. "Had enough?" He mocked.  
  
Catherine didn't even have the strength to look up into his eyes. "Well, obviously you haven't, since you won't even answer me. In that case..." Catherine could just barely see him motion for something from his cronies. "A present. Just so you won't forget us." The older boy ripped open her shirt. Catherine braced herself to use the last of her waning strength to clench her legs together. However, it seemed that the sadistic thug had nothing that simple planned for her. She thought in half delirium that in this, it was good that she was so small and underdeveloped.  
  
It wasn't until she saw the five glowing points of the tongs that Catherine even realized they'd built a fire.  
  
...  
  
Catherine woke up many hours later, when the sun had already traveled past its zenith. She started to move, forgetting why she'd taken a nap in the middle of the road. All of a sudden, she cried out in pain before biting her lip, and the memories of the morning came back to her.  
  
She gingerly moved her right hand, which was thankfully undamaged. With that hand, she ever so gently felt her face, taking account of her two black eyes, a most likely broken nose, and a split lip. Her hand moved carefully down her neck, which was apparently all right.  
  
Then, she touched her chest and her body exploded in pain. From her light touch, she gathered that after branding her with tongs shaped pretty much like a burning hand, the thugs cut little circles around each of the burns with their knives so they would bleed for a long time and heal messily.  
  
Catherine squeezed her eyes shut in an effort not to cry. She gritted her teeth and let her hand drift down. She estimated that at least two ribs were cracked or broken. She could feel several big bruises on her thighs and lower legs. All in all, until someone found her in this embarrassing position, Catherine was going nowhere.  
  
She supposed she was lucky; judging by the position of the sun, she'd been unconscious for most of the day, and school would be getting out soon. So, then Catherine did the only thing possible in her position – lie there and wait.  
  
When she finally saw someone walk by, she yelled. It hurt, but it would be worth it. When her rescuer came into sight, she nearly sent him away. It was the skinny boy she'd saved yesterday. Before he got too close, Catherine feebly tried to cover her injured chest, which still lay exposed.  
  
Then, the boy reached her, and his face turned sheet white. "What happened to you?" The boy asked in horror.  
  
Even in her injured state, Catherine could not help but be sarcastic. "I fell into a pool of roses. What do you think happened to me? The boys I defended you from yesterday brought friends. Now, are you just going to stand there like a lump, or will you help me?" She looked up at him, exasperated.  
  
He looked at her, seeing the wisdom in her words. "Right. I come from a line of doctors, so I have a bit of antiseptic in my backpack. Do you mind if I..." He gestured at her chest, obviously embarrassed.  
  
"Go ahead." Catherine spoke resignedly. "Not like there's anything for you to see anyway. What's your name anyway? Usually I ask before I let a man put his hand up my shirt." She attempted a feeble smile to indicate her joke, but it changed to a grimace when her expression moved her split lip and broken nose.  
  
"Oh, sorry. Fie. A Scottish name, not that my parents are from there, they just like the name. It means 'Dark of Peace'. Kinda cool, I guess. I get a lot of teasing about it, though. My last name's Dante. Like the guy who wrote The Inferno. Get teased about that too, from the more learned. But I should get to doing this. What's your name by the way?" Fie knelt down next to her.  
  
"Catherine. Catherine Night. Glad to meet..." She gasped as he wiped a small cut on the edge of her eye with his antiseptic wipes. However, she said nothing and allowed him to go on. He worked his way down her face, pausing to comment that her nose was broken. Catherine just rolled her eyes.  
  
Finally, Fie finished Catherine's face and gently pulled her shirt away from her wounds. When he saw them so close, he gasped in horror and sympathy. Catherine decided it was good his parents were doctors, because if he weren't used to seeing blood and injuries, he'd probably have thrown up on her. However, seeing her disgusted look, Fie just continued to clean. Finally, he was done.  
  
Then, Catherine looked at him. Always practical yet cynical, she asked "And how am I to get home? I can't go back to the ..." She suddenly remembered he didn't know she was an orphan. "To where I live like this."  
  
Fie never hesitated. "My parents don't ask questions." He pulled out a cell phone and called his parents. Within a couple of minutes, Fie's parents pulled up in a jet black van. They easily picked up Catherine and bundled her into the back seat, at which point Catherine lost consciousness once more.  
  
Author's Notes: Please review! I want to see what you have to say. A note to anyone who read the first chapter before I updated: I changed Fie's age. He is now fifteen as well. Any ideas on who he is? Or about Catherine's parents? ('Specially her mom, no one's suggested anything) I want to see what you think.  
  
To my reviewers:  
  
Ironi Numair: Thanks for the compliments! I am so honored, because you are one of my favorite authors on fanfic. I'm still looking for my spelling mistakes; the only free time I've had, I've used to write more, but I'm not ignoring you. Your logic is not weird, you're on the right track about Catherine's identity.  
  
Pen D. Fox: Thanks so much for reviewing! You're one of my other favorite authors. Thanks for your correction; I found the mistake today.  
  
Jade Limill: You're on the right track too! I won't tell you exactly though, cause I'm evil and I'm gonna keep you in suspense until the next chapter if you haven't figured it out from this one. ~_^ Can't say anything about what you've written, if anything, because Fanfic wouldn't let me do an author search today. I will though, I promise. 


	3. And The Light From the Streetlamp

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize from outside my fic. I also don't own the chapter titles, as they belong to those gods of music, Simon and Garfunkel.  
  
Author's notes: Sorry about the length and content of this chapter. It's pretty much a filler so the story will fit the song. Add to that a minor writer's block, and you get this chapter. Thanks to Rivin, for her constant help. Thanks also to all my reviewers. Hope you enjoy, and review again. Criticism is fine, just review, please!  
  
And the Light From the Streetlamp Paints A Pattern On My Wall  
  
Dalamar Nightson sat in the Tower of Palanthas, staring into a mirror-like pool of water. It was about thirteen years since the War of the Lance ended and he became the Master of the Tower. Having had nothing to do, he'd decided to practice scrying without the pool a few levels down. He knew it was never good to rely only on one type of magic, and scrying was a useful skill to possess.  
  
He took out his small mage's dagger and nicked himself on the finger. Scrying without the Pool required some sort of trace, so he'd decided to look in on family members by using his own blood. He squeezed the small, deep cut on finger, and allowed three drops of blood to fall into the bowl. Then, Dalamar chanted the incantation to be able to see others.  
  
Dalamar looked with mild interest into the bowl, once in a while muttering the word to try a different link. Suddenly, his already pale face turned sheet white.  
  
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Catherine slowly walked to her History class, grateful that she was still given an extra couple of minutes to get to class due to her injuries. It was three weeks since her 'incident' with the boys. Luckily, most of her wounds were mostly healed, so she was not longer in pain constantly. However, she still had a few broken ribs (three to be exact), a broken and painful nose, and a couple of residual bruises.  
  
The burns on her chest were also not healing. Not only did the burns remain, but somehow, the scabs on the cuts always seemed to rub off, no matter how carefully she bound them. It seemed she always went home after school with soaked bandages. Not good, especially because she had a messenger bag that normally rested mid-chest on and off, all day.  
  
During the past couple of weeks, Catherine had become nicer to Fie. You might even call them friends, when Catherine was in a good mood. But heaven help anyone who suggested they were a couple. However, it seemed to Catherine as though she and Fie were kindred spirits, and he became her first true friend.  
  
Lunch became more tolerable, because soon after the 'incident', Fie invited Catherine to his table; a table none of Catherine's 'nursemaids' would ever be caught dead near. The talk there, mostly about the Magic card game interested Catherine little more than the nursemaids' latest conquests, but the atmosphere was much better.  
  
As she came to know him, Catherine realized he was aptly named. When not getting beaten up or giving emergency medical help, Fie had a brooding quality to him. He also was quite involved in the Magic card game, a game Catherine scorned for it's bad pictures and awful portrayal of many creatures. However, Fie enjoyed it, and he had a drive to be the best at it. It seemed as though whatever Fie applied himself to, he was able to do.  
  
However, Catherine did not hold this against the slim boy, as she was much the same. Suddenly, she realized Fie had been talking to her. "Sorry, what did you just say? I didn't catch it."  
  
"No problem, Kit. I just wanted to know if I could borrow that book about 13th century magic that you were reading the other day."  
  
Catherine grinned at the use of her new nickname. She'd never been close enough with someone to have one before, and she felt this name suited her. "Sure." Life was definitely better, despite the constant pain.  
  
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Catherine walked home slowly, savoring the nice weather, as well as trying to be gentle on her aching body. She was glad she had the leisure to walk slowly. It seemed as though the senior's gang had gone to find new prey. Or not. As she thought about it, the gang walked up behind her.  
  
"Hey, Shorty." The leader smirked. "Long time no see, eh? Miss me?" His sadistic grin was back in no time. So, you live in the orphanage. Are they all underdeveloped bastards, or only you?"  
  
Catherine clenched her fists. She was in no condition to fight, and would not allow them to goad her into it, no matter what. "Obviously not, as then you would be there too, now wouldn't you?" Though she had self- control, Catherine was not above spoken insults.  
  
"Feisty, aren't we?" Suddenly, Catherine realized her mistake, and wished she could take her words back. It was then for the first time in her life that Catherine Night ran from a fight. 


	4. Like the Pieces of A Puzzle

Disclaimer: None of the characters mentioned in this chapter belong to me, with the exceptions of: Josephi, Catherine, and the midwife. The title of the chapter belongs to Simon and Garfunkle, my muses. It's the fourth line in their song, "Patterns".  
  
Like The Pieces of A Puzzle, Or A Child's Uneven Scrawl  
  
Dalamar's face was tight with barely contained fury as he stormed into the Tower at Wayreth. Par-Salian was shocked when he entered the main hall to greet his guest to see the dark elf's normally emotionless demeanor broken. "Can I help you, Dalamar?" Par-Salian's query was cautious.  
  
"A little late for that question, isn't it, 'Oh Wise One'?" Dalamar's thin face was even paler than normal, with brilliant red spots of anger, and he made Par-Salian's title drip with sarcasm.  
  
Par-Salian gave the head of the Black Robes a puzzled look. "What ever are you talking about? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it."  
  
"Now, if you'd only told me that about, say fifteen years ago?" The dark elf seemed to grow bigger in his fury. He subtly tossed two balls of flash powder to either side. On making contact with the floor, two pillars of fire licked the ceiling. Dalamar counted the use of flash powder as one of the most helpful things he was taught by Raistlin. With his swift movements, to the Head of the Conclave, it would seem as though the fire was triggered by the dark elf's emotions alone.  
  
Dalamar smiled eerily, the fires casting ominous shadows over the planes of his fine-boned face. "Still don't know what I'm talking about? Maybe, you could explain to me why today while scrying for family members, I happened across a young lady with all of my features? You know," his voice dripped with cynicism. "If it wasn't for her rounded ears, I would guess she was my daughter. Might you know anything about this, 'Master' Par-Salian?"  
  
Dalamar's voice, though fairly quiet, held menace; more menace then Par- Salian had heard since Raistlin was banished to the Abyss. "Now Dalamar, let's not be hasty." Par-Salian's voice held that calming tone of an adult trying to calm a child with a temper tantrum. Unfortunately, Dalamar did not take kindly to being treated like a child.  
  
"Hasty? You call fifteen years hasty? Now, why don't you tell me who that girl was, and why I didn't know about her." Dalamar's voice was as sharp as a Solamnic's sword.  
  
"Well, you see, it's kind of a long story..." Par-Salian was obviously wasting time by being purposely circumloquatious.  
  
"I for one have time; several hundred years in fact. You, on the other hand..."  
  
"Right." Par-Salian was not sure whether to take Dalamar's statement as a veiled threat or as a simple statement referring to the longevity of elves. "Well, you see, it all started fifteen years ago, when I heard this story from a healer woman...  
  
Nearly Sixteen Years Ago:  
  
Kitiara uth Matar paced her luxurious room, every once in a while hurling a glass at the wall. All the while, she was cursing fluently, in many different languages. Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted the Highlord's tirade. "My Lady?"  
  
It was Kit's new toy, an admiral named Josephi, and the last person on Krynn she wanted to see now. "My Lady, what's wrong?"  
  
Kit could stand it no longer. She stormed to the door and yanked it open. "Go away!" she shrieked. "Did I say I wanted to see you? No! My door is closed! Where I come from, that usually indicates a need for privacy. Leave now, before I demote you!" Kitiara slammed the door in the young man's shocked face.  
  
When she heard him walk away, Kit sank onto her bed. "I just need to be alone," she whispered to herself, and then, Kitiara uth Matar, the Blue Lady, the woman of iron, broke down sobbing for only the third time in her life.  
  
"How could this be happening to me?" Her question, though asked out loud was not aimed at anyone. "Why me? Why now?" Suddenly, Kit sat up with a start. Lord Soth had just floated through the wall, and after Josephi, he was the last person she wanted to see. Not only would he not understand, but he would *know*, and in knowing would say something. By voicing it, the truth would become undeniable.  
  
Kitiara attempted to wipe her face. "Please, just go away." Soth nearly did, simply because of his shock at Kit's 'please'. However, true to form as an evil spectre, he did not.  
  
"Anything wrong, my dear?" Soth's voice was sardonic, knowing exactly what the problem was. That was just enough to push Kit over the edge again.  
  
"Just shut up! Shut up! You bastard, you have no emotions or caring at all! Can't you leave me alone for just a while? Go!" Kit's tirade ended in a shriek, and as Soth left, smirking, she collapsed again into shameful tears.  
  
How was she going to deal with it this time? Who would have known, after all of those carefree years that this was going to happen, not just once, but thrice! Suddenly, Kit broke into hysterical laughter at the horrible irony of it.  
  
'Yes,' she thought to herself. 'It is true. I can deny it no longer. I'm having another child. Me!' Suddenly, another mood swing hit her, and she started sobbing again. 'Me. Why me?'  
  
It was then that Kitiara found out the true problem with living near an evil undead spectre. Lord Soth floated through the wall again, still smirking. And then, in that utterly infuriating manner of his, Soth read her mind.  
  
Soth's voice dripped with false caring. "Well, Darling, when someone has as many lovers as you do, it's kind of hard not to get pregnant once in a while! Whose is it, by the way?"  
  
"But why!?" was all that Kit managed to get out.  
  
Soth grinned widely. "Well, Dearest, when a man and a woman really love each other..." His grin got even bigger when Kit cut him off by hurling a glass through him onto the wall. "Well, it seems as though someone's not feeling very social today!" Soth gave Kitiara a mocking bow, and he floated through the floor.  
  
Many Months Later:  
  
Kitiara drilled her troops vigorously, making them run back and forth endlessly. Anyone caught lagging was put to death. Finally, she shrieked for them to stop. That was something Kit had recently gotten very good at; shrieking. When the soldiers slowed to a walk, panting, Josephi walked over to Kit.  
  
The young man was in excellent shape, and was barely breathing hard at all. "Kit, Love, you look pale. Do you need to sit or something? You look a bit ill..." Josephi's caring was not appreciated by the pregnant woman, who by now was swelling up like a ripe melon.  
  
Kit whipped her sword out of its sheath faster than the eye could see. She waved it menacingly in front of the young man's face. "I'm fine, you hear? If I need help, I'll ask for it." Kit refrained from saying why she might need help; though it was hard not to see now, it was an unspoken law that no one was to mention Kit's pregnancy. She'd already beheaded several young men who'd made the mistake to comment a bit too loudly.  
  
Suddenly, she felt a sharp spasm in her abdomen. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, and then felt blood pour from the bite. Suddenly, she realized: she was going into labor! From the other two times she'd been pregnant, she guessed that her water would break relatively soon. She grabbed Josephi's rapidly retreating arm.  
  
"Come!" Kit snapped at the surprised admiral. Without actually saying she needed help, she leaned on him, steering him toward her fortress. She had just gotten to her room when Kit felt warm liquid gush down her leg. She quickly shed her ruined breeches with her usual lack of modesty.  
  
With the calm authority of one who's already given birth a couple of times, she levered Josephi to her side for support as she squatted and waited for the next contraction. It came all too soon, and Josephi gasped in pain as Kitiara got a death grip on his arm until the pain passed.  
  
It wasn't long before not even Kit could hold back her screams of agony. "Go!" she managed to gasp. "Get a healer. Not a cleric. A healing woman from town." For a second, Josephi hesitated, nervous about leaving his lover. "Go!" Kit managed to yell, even in her condition.  
  
Kit was glad, not for the first time that Josephi was in such good shape. It was no longer than half an hour before the admiral came back, healer in tow, though to Kit it felt like half a week. By that time, Kit was no longer able to support herself during the contractions, and had gone to lie down on the bed.  
  
When the midwife came in and saw Kit, she promptly chided her. "Young woman, why are you lying down? Let gravity do the work for you! Up you go!" Kitiara, surprised by the woman's brusque, business-like way of ordering her around, got up immediately. It was a mistake, however, as at that instant, another contraction ripped through Kit's body. She flailed, and cried out.  
  
Brusque though she was, the healer knew her trade. She was at Kit's side in an instant, holding her elbow and giving her a place to grip. To her credit, the healer barely flinched at the Highlord's iron-like grip. The healer motioned for Josephi to take Kit's arm while checked Kit's dilation. The healer shook her head. Though she'd never say so, she doubted the other woman would live through the pregnancy, and she doubted the child would either.  
  
Suddenly, Josephi and the healer looked up as Kit made an odd choking sound. Her eyes rolled back in her head, but her body stayed upright. Her eyes completely white, Kit started to make an odd keening noise. Abruptly, the awful sound stopped. However, what came next was even more disturbing. In a voice sounding much deeper and more masculine, but yet at the same time higher and more feminine, Kitiara spoke.  
  
Or something did. "A child of two worlds, a child of one. A child of two faiths; a child of none. The world torn; as is the soul. One shall shatter; the other be made whole." The *thing* stopped it's chanting only to go into it's horrible keening once more. Finally, the noise stopped, and Kit collapsed. Thankfully, as she fainted, the baby slid out into the midwife's surprised hands.  
  
Not surprisingly, to this day, neither midwife nor admiral could tell which sound was worse: the shrill, eardrum shattering shrieks, or the voice that was neither masculine nor feminine, but both, neither rough nor smooth but both, and neither melodious nor painful yet both. However, both knew they never wanted to hear either sound again, as long as they lived.  
  
The midwife was a sensible woman, though and soon recovered. She thrust the baby into Josephi's surprised arms and went about the task of reviving the new mother. When Kit woke up, half in a daze, the midwife made her stand again, and encouraged her to push once more.  
  
Josephi, thinking that Kit was giving birth to twins went dutifully to his knees, ready to catch the second child. Unfortunately for him, there was no twin. Apparently, Josephi didn't know about the afterbirth. Kit had another rapid contraction and having not moved, even after the midwife yelled at him, Josephi found himself covered in blood, mucous, and other fluids.  
  
Though immensely tired, the half conscious Kit could not help but laugh at the admiral, covered in slime, holding the baby like a sack of potatoes. A sack of precious potatoes, perhaps, but a sack of potatoes none the less.  
  
Finally, the midwife had both mother and child cleaned up, and Kit comfortable on her bed. Slightly more awake, Kit motioned for her baby. The midwife handed over the squalling package. Happily, Kit looked her child over. "A girl. My first girl!" Suddenly, as her eyes were able to focus more, she saw something about her new daughter's features. Her face turned sheet white. "No! I thought so, but hoped not."  
  
"What is it, dear?" The midwife's tone was more kind now that Kit was finished with her ordeal.  
  
"It can't be! It just can't!" The midwife put a comforting hand on the new mother's shoulder. "Dalamar." That was all that Kit said before she sank once more into the dark oblivion of a faint.  
  
The midwife made a sign against evil, a horrified look on her face. And so it came that the midwife sought out the Forest of Wayreth, and the master of the Tower there. She related her story to him, as she'd heard and seen it. Listening sympathetically, the Master, Par-Salian considered her story. And then, the woman told Par-Salian of the beautiful, horrible voice and it's ominous prophesy. With the words of the prophesy, Par- Salian became quite worried. It would seem as if the child would destroy the world for her own gain.  
  
Then, the midwife brought up an interesting point. It was quite doubtful that Kitiara would want to keep her child. She'd most likely want to foster it, as she'd done with her previous two children. For a bag of gold, and a charm with slight healing properties, the woman agreed to bring the child to Par-Salian.  
  
The woman was correct in her assessment of Kitiara, and the next week, the Forest of Wayreth found the midwife with Kitiara's daughter in her arms. For about four years, the child was taken care of by mages and clerics while she still needed breast milk. Her Elven heritage became more and more evident with every passing day. At the end of those four years, she was about the size of a human child ready to be weaned.  
  
At the end of those four years, Par-Salian had made up his mind. He had to get rid of the child. Dalamar still didn't know about her, and Kit couldn't care less what happened to the child. He could not take the risk that she would destroy his world! The world he loved was in jeopardy! He could not sit around and do nothing.  
  
So, that afternoon, he called Ladonna, Head of the Order of the Black Robes, to the nursery where they were keeping the child. He quietly told Ladonna of his plan: he would open a gateway to another world, and drop the child through. That would be the end of the whole affair. The world would not have the same magics as Krynn, so even if she learned magic there, she would have no way to get back.  
  
Ladonna shook her head. "Par-Salian, you can't do this! Prophesies are chancy, and you don't even know if the prophesy is referring to her! Please."  
  
Par-Salian shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ladonna, but I have thought it out, and I believe that this is the only way."  
  
Neither adult noticed when the child's eyes opened slightly, betraying her consciousness. "Are you sure? I mean, she's just a child!" Ladonna seemed horrified at the thought.  
  
"Of course I'm sure! It's obvious she's *their* child. How could the prophesy not be referring to her?" The White Robe's voice was determined.  
  
"Just give her a chance. You can't honestly mean to banish her! And anyway, what if the world she's put into doesn't have any elves? What then?"  
  
Par-Salian proudly took out a scroll. "I've already thought of that. This will sever the tips of her ears and heal them. She shouldn't feel to much."  
  
Ladonna looked shocked. "Par-Salian! Have you know heart? You're supposed to be the White Robe, the good one! You're taking away who she is. And, on top of that, you said she *shouldn't* feel *much*! What does that mean? Hasn't your spell been tested?"  
  
Par-Salian looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, no, not on sentient beings. But it seemed to work fine on the rats!"  
  
"You monster! How can you do this?" Ladonna was now screeching, but Par- Salian paid her no heed. He was already holding one of the child's pointed ears gently. He murmured a few words in the spidery language of magic and the tip of the girl's ear came off.  
  
The child screamed a heart-wrenching sound, and Ladonna could barely stop herself from assassinating the Head of the Conclave. With another couple of words, the ear healed nicely. It was now rounded, and only an expert would be able to tell there had been horrible surgery performed upon it.  
  
Ignoring Ladonna's choked gasp, Par-Salian ruthlessly did the same for her other ear. When he was done, the child pulled away from the mage's firm grasp and curled up in a ball of pain.  
  
Par-Salian then looked over another scroll quickly, and raised his hands. Ladonna cut in. "Par-Salian, what are you doing? She's been through a lot. Let her stay with us just another couple of weeks. Please!" Ladonna's voice was pleading.  
  
However, Par-Salian shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ladonna. It has to be now or never. Now, you must help me. I used too much strength cutting her ears. Do not make me force you, as you know I'm perfectly capable of doing."  
  
Sadly, Ladonna moved into position. She knew he was right, unfortunately. Within seconds, the two had opened a portal in front of a building that Ladonna guessed was an orphanage. She gently laid the child on the steps, placing on top of her a letter to the owners of the building. Sadly, she took her hand back through; she had loved the child.  
  
Over the next four or five years, the Conclave kept tabs on the child, seeing that she was safe, but did not possess the knowledge to come to Krynn. Seeing that was true, they stopped wasting their energy. However, no one who knew forgot the prophesy.  
  
In the present:  
  
"And that is what happened, by the god Gilean's own book. I'm sorry we never told you. We were afraid you would interfere."  
  
Dalamar's face was now dangerously calm. "I see. You were afraid. You never told me I sired a child because you were afraid, and now you're sorry. Well, that definitely makes everything all right." On that sarcastic note, Dalamar the Dark stalked out of the Tower at Wayreth. He had some studying to do.  
  
A/N: Well, here it was, an extra long, and in my opinion, extra good chapter to make up for the last one. Thanks as always to my wonderful reviewers. Kenderling: hope this chap. answered most of your questions. Pen D. Fox and Guan, glad you liked it. By the way, I'm sure there's a question all of you want answered. I do know that I wrote Kit had two previous children. This will be explained...probably in the next chapter. Hope you liked it. Please review! ~Dalamar Nightson 


	5. Up A Narrow Flight of Stairs

Disclaimer: I don't own DragonLance, or any of the characters you recognize from those books. I also don't own LOTR or any of those characters, much to my constant sorrow. I still don't own my chapter titles. Also, in this chapter, you may note a line taken... I mean found (those careless people! ~_^) from Disney's Mulan. Please take the line in a much less Eddy Murphy way, and a much more Dalamar way. Your constant cooperation and reviews are much appreciated.  
  
Up A Narrow Flight of Stairs, In A Narrow Little Room  
  
Catherine woke up with an odd feeling. She's had her memory dream, and once again, she woke up before either of the odd adults said anything useful. She got out of bed slowly, and pulled on her clothes. For some reason, she was shaking with nervous energy. It was as though she knew something was going to happen; whether good or bad, she didn't know.  
  
Reluctantly, Catherine went downstairs for breakfast. When going down the stairs, she realized most of her bruises were hurting much less. That was one good thing, at least. However, she thought smugly, they weren't healed enough to let her participate in gym. Or, at least that's what the gym teacher would hear.  
  
Catherine walked to school quickly. Not for the first time this year, she sincerely wished she lived somewhere else, or was someone else. It would be nice to fit in somewhere, she mused.  
  
Her depression was broken with Fie's yell over the school parking lot. "Hey, Kit! I have your book for you!" She slowly trotted over to him, careful not to hit her still bleeding chest.  
  
She got to Fie, and he handed her the book. He then heaped several other things on top of it. They were colorfully wrapped, with a card. "What's all this?" Catherine was puzzled.  
  
"Kit, you're such an idiot! It's your birthday. How do you forget your own birthday?" Fie grinned at her, and gave her a companionable punch on the arm. "Go on, open your presents!"  
  
Catherine dutifully put the packages down and started to unwrap. When she saw what it was, Catherine's eyes lit up. "Fie! How'd you afford this! They're beautiful." She pulled out the three glossy, hardcover books. It was the Lord of The Rings Trilogy, one of Catherine's favorite book series. She'd only gotten them out of the library, however, because she'd never seen a set she'd either wanted or could afford.  
  
"Thank you!" Catherine's eyes were tearing, though woe to the person who would dare say such a thing. "This is the best birthday I've ever had! See, at the orphanage, all they do is give out some sickly-sweet cake, and sometimes, new clothes. If you're lucky." Catherine's voice was sad, and slightly bitter.  
  
"Well, in that case, I can understand how you can forget! Since you're not doing anything anyway, d'you want to come over to my house after school? Then, we can go trick-or-treating together!"  
  
"Sure!" Catherine grinned. That was the only thing she ever liked about her birthday: it was on Halloween! This year, she was going as Arwen from Lord of the Rings. She'd wanted to go as Galadriel, but she couldn't afford a blond wig. Fie was dressing up as Gandalf.  
  
'Maybe,' Catherine though, 'this day won't be bad after all!' She and Fie walked into the building. Throughout the day, Kit's new books found their way into her hands during class. She couldn't think of a time when she'd be happier. The depression of the morning was long gone and already forgotten.  
  
When the school day ended, Catherine waited for Fie outside the door. "Are you sure you don't mind me coming over?" Catherine was nervous about going over to a friend's house, as it was her first time.  
  
Fie smiled. "Nah. It's great that you're able to come." They walked on for a couple of blocks in companionable silence. Suddenly, Fie spoke. "I don't think I ever properly thanked you."  
  
Catherine looked surprised. "For what?"  
  
Fie grinned. "Don't you remember? When those idiots almost beat me to a pulp, and then you came in all kung-foo? You know, if you hadn't done that, we might not be friends. And you are the first true friend I've ever had. On top of which, you seemed pissed when I didn't thank you in the first place. So, here it is: thank you."  
  
Catherine blushed. "It isn't necessary to dwell on that. But I accept your thanks."  
  
Suddenly, a harsh voice made both Kit and Fie jump. "Oh, how sweet. The shorty and the weakling are about to kiss. Sorry to break it up, you two, but I'm afraid Shorty had passed out a bit before we'd planned the other day."  
  
Before they could react, Catherine and Fie were herded into an alleyway. The leader of the gang, who had spoken before, started the fight with a swift punch for Catherine. She hissed in pain as it hit her in the chest, once more opening her burns.  
  
Valiantly, Catherine fought back. Equally brave, Fie attempted to imitate her, but with little success. Soon, it was no longer even a fight. It seemed that this time, the gang was going to rape Catherine, and possibly Fie too. Both huddled at the end of the alley, as far away from the seniors as possible. Catherine had to bite her lip hard enough to draw blood to stop herself from crying.  
  
All of a sudden, there was a puff of smoke between the seniors and the terrified freshmen. Catherine gaped, not believing her eyes. The jet- black smoke unfolded like a flower blooming to reveal a very oddly dressed man. For some reason, he reminded Catherine of the people in her dream.  
  
The man was like nothing she'd ever seen. He was fairly tall, just shy of six foot. His long black hair blended in with his robes; the color of darkest night. His slender, pale fingers were raised in front of him, spread out.  
  
Involuntarily, the senior gang took a step back. Catherine couldn't help but sneer. They were so tough while attacking smaller, younger people, but were afraid of one man.  
  
The leader was the first to recover. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
The odd man appeared to start when he saw the sadistic senior. However, he quickly gained his composure. When he spoke, his voice was soft and menacing, holding a promise of pain. "Your worst nightmare." His sibilant whisper made his words easy to believe.  
  
The gang leader, though scared, put up a front, true to form. "Oh, and I'm supposed to be afraid of an old fag who dressed up for Halloween early? Right." He rushed the man, who calmly stood his ground and waved his hand slightly.  
  
If she weren't still terrified, Catherine would have laughed aloud. The gang leader slammed headfirst into what seemed to be a wall of air, and fell on his butt. His cohorts, who were following close behind hadn't had time to stop, and so repeated the action quite comically.  
  
With all of the gang members on the ground, the man turned around. Now that Catherine could see his features, she wasn't surprised the senior had said the man looked as though he was in a Halloween costume. He had pale skin and almond shaped eyes. His ears were pointed, and if she hadn't known better, Catherine would have said he was an elf! Though such a thought was preposterous, of course.  
  
The man came closer, and Catherine curled up smaller. Had she been saved from one predator just to land in the hands of another? However, the man's face appeared kind. He picked Catherine up gently and effortlessly, and sensing her continuing terror, set her down on her feet.  
  
Now that he wasn't menacing someone, Catherine noted that his voice was a melodious tenor. "Are you all right, Child?" Catherine nodded dumbly, her gaze sliding over to Fie. The man went to Fie, checking for his pulse. He nodded. "Your friend is fine; he passed out from the shock."  
  
"Now," the man's voice took on a commanding tone. "We must leave here before I'm found out." Catherine stared, wondering if her savior was actually a criminal.  
  
Suddenly, she found her voice. "Who are you? And I'm not leaving unless you take Fie as well."  
  
The man smiled mysteriously. "My identity I shall disclose when we have more time. However, you have no need to fear me. I would never hurt you. As for your friend, I suppose if you insist, he shall come as well. Who knows, he may even have a part to play in this madness!" The last sentence seemed to be a thought spoken aloud, rather than a comment aimed at Catherine.  
  
"Now, we go." The man scooped up Catherine, and settled her in the crook of his arm. Almost involuntarily, Kit found herself snuggling into the man's robes at the shoulder, enjoying the soft velvet and odd fragrance. The man also lifted Fie to his feet, and held him roughly by the arm.  
  
Much to Catherine's surprise, the man calmly waved his arm again, and tossed something at the older boys. He had a satisfied smirk on his face as a couple of missiles of light sprang from his fingers, and multiplied as they neared their targets. He spoke words in a language that made Catherine feel as though spiders were walking on her, and the last thing she saw was the terrified looks on the faces of the older boys.  
  
Dalamar gently dropped the teenagers on chairs in his study before hurrying back through the portal. Once across, he roughly grabbed the leader of the gang by his collar and dragged him through as well. He transported himself back to the tower and locked up the senior in a small, bare room.  
  
When Catherine came to, she found herself in an unfamiliar room, lying on a plush couch. Across from her, draped over an equally plush chair was Fie. He seemed not to have recovered from their little 'adventure'. Suddenly, the odd man appeared directly in front of Catherine's seat.  
  
"Please excuse our abrupt departure from your world. All shall be explained to you in due time." His musical voice had an accent that Catherine had never heard, and yet it seemed familiar. Whatever the origin was, she liked its gentle, lilting tone.  
  
Curiosity suddenly overcame Catherine's wariness. "How'd you do that? The transporting thing, I mean. It seems like magic, though of course that's absurd!"  
  
The man smiled a small, secretive smile that betrayed amusement. "Oh, so you no longer think I'm a murderer or rapist, or whatever you believed? That's nice." His tone held a mocking note, but it was not unkind. It seemed to Catherine that he wasn't mocking her, but rather the world. She wondered what kind of a past this man had to leave him so bitter.  
  
Catherine suddenly seemed to remember that she was in a strange room with a strange man and had no idea how she'd gotten there. "Who are you, anyway? And why'd you bring me here? That's kidnapping where I come from."  
  
The man smiled again. "Kidnapping? Is that what thanks I get? Well, you deserve to know more about me, Catherine Night." His eyes danced at Catherine's shock that he knew her name. "I am Dalamar Nightson, born Dalamar Argent of the Silvanesti Elves. Currently, I reside in the Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas, where you find yourself now."  
  
"I am a mage of the Order of the Black Robes, which got me kicked out of Silvanesti. For several years, I studied with Raistlin Majere, Master of the Past and Present, likely the most powerful mage to have ever lived. Oh I nearly forgot: I'm your father." Dalamar told all in a matter-of-fact voice.  
  
For a moment, Catherine could do nothing but stare open-mouthed in mute amazement. Then, she snapped. "I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming." She pinched herself hard on the arm, wincing as she felt the pain. "This can't be. There's no such thing as magic, or elves, or Black Robes or Ritalin Maggot or whoever he was. And on top of it all, my father died, or deserted me before I was born!"  
  
Dalamar stood watching her silently. How like her mother in that fit of temper! He put a gentle hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Calm down. I didn't ask you to believe any of it, now did I? However, it is true. My most sincere apologies about your confusion over my existence, but I didn't know about your existence until a couple of days ago. In the end, your mother and I were not on the best of terms, and she never deigned to tell me I had a child."  
  
Catherine had just gone into a shocked stupor. "Broke up, did you?" she said sympathetically, not quite paying attention while her brain tried to take in all she'd been told.  
  
Dalamar grinned. "Well, I suppose you could say that. Now, it is nearly night. I have some research to do, so you can just follow the spectre to your room. There you will find some food, and something to wear for the night. When your friend wakes up, he will find the same in his room."  
  
Catherine was amazed to see, on cue, a disembodied hand float through the wall and beckon to her. So this was the spectre, she thought. Numb with shock, she followed it meekly out of the room.  
  
And now is my time to thank all of my wonderful reviewers: Thank you!  
  
Guan: Well, all shall be revealed in due time, though I think at least, that I gave a HUGE hint this chapter. If you didn't feel the same, no worries. Another two or so chapters.  
  
Kenderling: Thank you! *Blushing* I know made Par-Salian slightly out of character, but I don't quite like him, and I'll probably explain his decision more in the future.  
  
Pen D.: Thanks for your constant support and reviews!  
  
To any others thinking of reviewing: Please do! I accept constructive criticism with dignity, and will accept flames, with bigger flamethrower in hand! ~_^ Thank you all for reading my story. ~Dalamar Nightson 


	6. As I Lie Apon My Bed

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize.  
  
Notes: Sorry this took me so long. Metal blocks against the subject of this chapter, schoolwork, and vacations all teamed up to nearly defeat me.  
  
So you know, this chapter's main character's name is pronounced Eve-Lihn, not Eh-vah-lihn as it is sometimes pronounced. Two syllables, long 'e', as in meat.  
  
**As I Lie Upon My Bed, In the Early Evening Gloom**  
  
Dalamar paced his room restlessly. There was something about the whole situation that he didn't like. Something he couldn't put a finger on. He needed to do some research. Not the boy – questioning him would most likely involve a great show of power, and a lot of additional energy that at the moment, Dalamar didn't have. Inter-dimensional travel was more draining then it looked!  
  
He let his thoughts travel to the other boy: the younger one. He couldn't interrogate that boy either. His daughter seemed friendly with him, and it would probably only make Dalamar's relationship with the girl worse if he kept her friend up until the early morning.  
  
Why did that younger boy, what was his name? Fie? Why did he seem so familiar? Suddenly, he remembered a legend told in his childhood to warn the young elves about the danger of evil. Dalamar decided it was time to pay Astinus a visit.  
  
About twenty minutes later, Dalamar returned to his room, book in hand. Miraculously, Astinus had known exactly which legend he'd been talking about. Even more miraculously, there had been some truth to the Elves' horror story, and it had been recorded as a tale. So, Dalamar eagerly started reading, pleased with the truth of it, and the lack of Elven prejudices...  
  
... It is in the time of the Kingpriest of Istar, when the great mage Fistandantilus rules over the dark as firmly as the Kingpriest rules over the light. A young elf has recently pledged herself to the eternal service of Paladine, and found herself near the evil mage's quarters.  
  
When realizing where she'd ended up, the elf, named Evelynn froze. Unfortunately, she was standing directly in front of Fistandantilus' door. Even more unfortunately, the mage was emerging, ready for dinner after a long day of studying. So involved was he in deciphering his spell he nearly walked into the astonished cleric.  
  
That was all it took for Evelynn's personality to return. She hadn't been given a higher rank mostly because of her temper and free spirit, which now chose to express themselves. "Excuse you!" Her tone was sharp, criticizing the slight man who'd nearly collided with her.  
  
"Actually," the young man's tone was soft, deadly. "I believe since it was you who chose to stop so abruptly in front of my room, it is you who owes me the apology." He looked up from his book, his pale blue gaze meeting that of the turquoise-eyed elf. It was slightly mocking, and couldn't be called kind.  
  
Evelynn was shocked! How dare this young rebel criticize HER! She was a cleric of Paladine, by the gods, and would take nothing from his kind. However, it was not seemly for a cleric to smack someone, as she much wanted to do, so she contented herself with a slightly raised eyebrow and an acidic "As you wish," before going on her way.  
  
A couple of hours later that day, Fistandantilus sat in his room, lost in thought. For once, the composed archmage was completely baffled! Who was that cleric? It first seemed as though she was terrified of him, and then, she appeared to almost be flirting! With him! With great difficulty, Fistandantilus put such troubling thoughts aside for some other time. Some time when he was not almost finished interpreting a spell that used a bloodstone to drain someone's soul! With that pleasing thought, Fistandantilus had no further trouble clearing his mind and going back to his spellbook.  
  
At the same time, Evelynn too was having troubling thoughts. The way her teachers had portrayed it, evil was either hideous or too beautiful to exist, and therefore would trap you. Both types of evil would as soon kill you as look at you. However, that mage was different.  
  
He seemed almost nice, in a sarcastic kind of way. Though slim, he was not scrawny, and he had lovely shoulder length brown hair. His eyes were a piercing ice blue; one of the most pure shades Evelynn had ever seen.  
  
Evelynn chided herself. What was she doing? She is a cleric of Paladine, for goodness sake. She laughed at herself. 'Almost nice, in a sarcastic way'? What was that? She was acting like a lovesick child, not even out of her forties! She shook her head to clear her thoughts, wheat golden hair flying about her in a halo.  
  
Evelynn woke up the next morning, feeling as though she'd just gotten into bed. She might as well have done so, she'd had such a bad night. She'd been thinking hard all night; thinking of that mage. Thinking of other things too, Evelynn was. Thinking on the subject of evil. What is evil, anyway?  
  
And was there such a thing as true evil anyway? Everyone had to have some good in them, as well as some bad! After her sleepless night, Evelynn had come to only one conclusion. She had to talk to the mage again.  
  
Evelynn walked back to Fistandantilus' rooms, still thinking. Would she be criticized for talking to him? No, talk couldn't do anything, and if anyone asked, she could always claim she was trying to make him see the light! Before she knew it, Evelynn had arrived at the mages rooms.  
  
Evelynn knocked quietly, and then realized she had no idea what to say to Fistandantilus once she saw him! However, her problem was solved on seeing him.  
  
The powerful Black Robe through open the door to his room with an annoyed "What?" Evelynn, surprised, took an involuntary step back. However, it wasn't long before she'd recovered.  
  
"Is that how you greet all guests?" Her voice was tart, and she raised one delicate golden eyebrow.  
  
It was now Fistandantilus' turn to be shocked. "It's you!" He blurted out the statement before getting a hold on himself. This was just the person he didn't need to see! He had enough trouble without an air-headed goody- goody cleric come to scold him. And, he had spent almost all night learning his new spell, so he barely had the energy to send her away.  
  
Evelynn glared at him. "You are acting like such a jerk! I come here to talk to you, and perhaps apologize, and all I get is a "What," and then an "It's you"? And then, you leave me standing out here?" The elf was outraged at his abysmal manners.  
  
When Fistandantilus spoke, his voice was pure venom. "Oh, come in then, 'Revered Daughter'." He showed her in, and all the while his quick mind was leaping. Here was a way to carry out his plans for the future! If he could lead her on, she might follow him to the Abyss and back. Which was exactly what he wanted.  
  
He decided that politeness might be the first step to winning her over. "Forgive me, Revered Daughter. That was uncalled for. I had a bad night last night. I should not have treated you like that. Won't you take a seat?"  
  
Evelynn looked at the archmage incredulously, not sure she liked the sudden change in personality. "Oh," her voice dripped honey. "Don't disturb yourself for me." Her demeanor also made a rapid change, to a matter-of- fact tone. "You know, just because I'm dedicated to the service of good doesn't mean I am unable to appreciate sarcasm, or enjoy sarcastic banter myself. My name is Evelynn, by the way. I also dislike formalities."  
  
Fistandantilus smirked, barriers on cynicism dropped for the time being. "As you wish, Evelynn." He said her name with scorn, most likely for her race, Evelynn decided. Though angered, Evelynn let it pass. "So, I'm aching with curiosity." The Archmage's tone took on a more facetious nature. "Why is a young cleric of good making a social call to a mage, rumored to be evil incarnate?"  
  
Evelynn paused, unsure what to say. "Well, I suppose I wanted to talk. About good and evil, about you, about me, whatever." She realized as she said it how lame she sounded. This time, it was Fistandantilus who raised an eyebrow.  
  
Finally, all of the annoyances of the past few years that Evelynn had bottled up cam rushing out. "Well, to start with, do you know how boring it is to talk with twittering children who can think of nothing more than clothes, others' love interests, and their own love interests? And also, to have to act the perfect prim lady every minute of the day?  
  
"I know that I'm dedicated to good, and I love my work, and especially to heal those who are sick. However, I don't believe bruising yourself all over in attempts to ride sidesaddle rather than astride because sidesaddle is more ladylike constitutes to good! Neither is learning how to sit strait, or how to measure how low to curtsy!"  
  
Fistandantilus let Evelynn finish her tirade, thinking to himself that this was going to be more interesting than he'd first thought. "So," he said snidely, "You came to talk because you want to rebel and this is how you're going about it?" The mage was rewarded for his pains by seeing Evelynn get flustered and blush.  
  
However, Evelynn quickly recovered. "And what if I am? What then? I saw the way you looked at me when you nearly ran me over. You think I'm attractive!" Evelynn's voice was teasing. She was fairly confident that would bother him! She smiled in triumph at his shocked look.  
  
Much to the distress of her tutors and mentors, Evelynn's friendship with the Black Robe grew steadily over the next couple of weeks. They talked for hours on end, about everything from good versus evil, to politics, to music, and more. Evelynn, though distressed at her fellow clerics' closed- mindedness, was quite happy with her growing relationship with the mage.  
  
Fistandantilus, however, had much more complicated thoughts. He had originally planned on using her as a pawn, and probably still could, yes. However, something happened that even his logical mind could not explain. He started to like the willful elf! Well, if he was being honest with himself, he may as well admit it all. He was starting to love her.  
  
It wasn't long before his scheming mind took over for his emotions, though. If he had feelings for her, that meant she might have some for him, no? People with emotions they themselves could not control were easy for others to control. However, he realized, she might not lose control over her emotions.  
  
He followed his train of thought farther. What if they actually had an affair? How would that affect her? Would it benefit him? Well, if they were found out, Evelynn would be named a dark elf. And that would crush his plans for taking over the Netherworld, as it had to be a cleric of pure good! But if they weren't found out... Fistandantilus fell asleep with no more answers than he'd awakened with.  
  
Soon, the relationship between cleric and mage grew to a point where the other clerics could stand it no longer. One day, Evelynn's superior, the middle-aged elf Galatia came over to her after breakfast, the time Evelynn usually escaped for her daily debates with the evil mage.  
  
"Evelynn?" Galatia's voice was mildly scolding. "Come here, my daughter. I am troubled."  
  
Evelynn decided that it was best to play innocent. "Oh, Mother?" She used the honorary title for an older Daughter of Paladine being addressed by a younger one. "Whatever is the matter? Is there something I could do for you?" She knew very well what this would be about, but kept that to herself. Her voice stayed carefully neutral.  
  
"Evelynn," The older cleric's voice was sterner. "I believe you know exactly what the problem is." At Evelynn's continued wide-eyed innocence, Galatia sighed. "The mage Fistandantilus. You may see him no longer. If you do, it will be my unfortunate duty to defrock you. And that means permanently, no 'I'll join the order again in a hundred years when they've forgotten me' crap."  
  
Evelynn wasn't sure which surprised her more: the threat of being stripped of her white Robes of Paladine, or the fact that Galatia was angry enough to curse! "Honored Mother, don't you think this is just a bit harsh? We were only talking..."  
  
Galatia cut her off with a cold glare. "For NOW. I have consulted the Platinum Dragon on this issue, and the Great One assures me that this 'talking' can only lead to evil and despair. Now, I suggest you end this now, because if it progresses any further, it may seem as though you wish to join the ranks of the Dark Queen, and we will be forced to banish you."  
  
Much as she wanted give a snappish response, Evelynn wisely held her tongue. Being made a dark elf was not an experience she wished to have. She would find ways though. No one but the gods themselves could tell her what to do! For now however, best to seem intimidated. "Yes, Honored Mother." She bowed low, letting her hair fall over her face. "It will be as you say."  
  
Knowing that she was dismissed, Evelynn stalked off toward her room. It was not in her nature to allow people to tell her whom she could and couldn't talk to. So, she wouldn't.  
  
Over the next month, her friendship with the evil mage continued to strengthen, despite her mentor's threat. She was much more careful about when they met, and they agreed never to acknowledge each other in public. However, being forced to meet in the dead of night or in the predawn hours only helped them become closer.  
  
A few weeks later was Yule. Evelynn straitened her knew white dress, one that fit her willowy form well. Here goes nothing, she thought. It is time to stop hiding. She knocked on Fistandantilus' door.  
  
As soon as it opened, she blurted out her speech before she lost her nerve. "Fie," she used her nickname for him. It was both a play on his name and his evil reputation. "I was wondering if you would go to the Yule Ball with me. I mean, I haven't gotten any offers, and I think you'd have told me if you did, and I'd really love to go with you if you'd take me. If not, I s'pose that's all right too. D'you think I'm being too forward?"  
  
When Evelynn realized how much she'd just said, and more importantly, implied, and her normally creamy skin turned bright red. Fistandantilus merely smiled at her, a smile he seemed to reserve for her. "I'd be honored to escort you, Revered Daughter Evelynn, if your position among the clerics won't be hurt."  
  
Evelynn smiled back, grateful. Was this...this love truly evil? How could it be? "The honor is mine, and if the other clerics disapprove of my choice, that's their problem, not mine."  
  
Fistandantilus smiled gently. "If you're sure, it would be my pleasure. Now, I believe it would be best if we were not seen exiting my rooms together, so if you wish it, I'll meet you in the banquet room in ten minutes."  
  
Evelynn exited Fistandantilus' rooms, feeling as though she were walking on clouds. No childish infatuation, this. She was sure of it, as sure of it as she was sure spring would always follow winter, which followed autumn. She was in love, and could not remember a time when she'd been happier.  
  
Evelynn stopped at her rooms before heading down to the banquet hall, putting on a bit of perfume and makeup. For the first time since asking Fistandantilus to escort her, she felt a sense of dread. What if the other clerics did defrock her? Even worse, what if they banished her? She didn't think she could stand knowing she was dead to her people, knowing they'd as soon step in horse dung as talk to her, knowing they'd rather acknowledge a gully dwarf than acknowledge her.  
  
However, these thoughts were soon exiled as she made her way to the banquet hall. Her heart soared as she saw Fistandantilus at the door, nearly a shadow in velvet robes, with the exception of the shimmering silver and platinum runes that made the trimming on the edges. Evelynn smiled as she neared him, and was rewarded with the smile he saved for her. The mage offered his arm, and they walked into the banquet hall. To the shocked clerics and white mages, it seemed they were something unnatural: evil's embodiment and good's avatar linked in loving embrace.  
  
It wasn't long before Galatia had fought her way through the thick crowd to the young couple. Her voice was pure ice as she spoke. "Evelynn, get away from that man this instant. What is the meaning of this?"  
  
Fistandantilus shifted his arm slightly, so she could remove her hand. However, at the older cleric's cold question, Evelynn tightened her grip on the young mage's arm, praying to her god, as well as his for the strength to do what needed to be done. "Mother," Evelynn managed to keep her tone respectful. "No."  
  
Fistandantilus lightly squeezed her hand, giving her courage. "I love this man, and will continue to do so. I know he has different beliefs than I do, but isn't the first job of Good to be accepting of others? This is what my heart tells me to do, and I do not see how love, in any capacity can be bad or evil. Do what you like to me, but we both know that an elf's true love is eternal." Evelynn proudly shook her head, her mouth in a determined line.  
  
Galatia shook her head sadly. She knew Evelynn spoke the truth, and though it hurt her greatly to anything bad to a girl she loved as her own kin, she knew what she had to do. "Than you know what my answer must be. You will turn in all of your official robes by the end of the week, and you must have found a place other than the Cleric's Wing by the end of the month. I'm sorry." With that, Galatia turned and walked away, not looking back once.  
  
Against her will, Evelynn felt tears creeping into her eyes. Fistandantilus held her close, and Evelynn snuggled in, enjoying the feeling of velvet and the smell of his spell components. When she looked up, Fistandantilus' eyes were sad. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. "I brought this down on you."  
  
Evelynn wiped away her tears, her eyes fierce once more. "No. Never think that. I knew what the consequences of this would be from the beginning. It was my own choice." Evelynn silenced any further arguments the mage might have head by tilting her head up and kissing him on the lips. First, the powerful mage was too shocked to respond, but then kissed her back with a passion. They spent the rest of the night on a cloud.  
  
Evelynn walked back with Fistandantilus because his room was farther than hers was. She was reluctant to leave the black mage. When they got to his room, he didn't let go of her hand. "Stay with me."  
  
Evelynn shook her head before she could think, and gently pulled her hand away. Fistandantilus nodded, and closed his door. The former cleric started back to her room, thinking about all that had happened that evening. Suddenly she turned around. What more did she have to lose?  
  
She tentatively knocked on Fistandantilus' door. When he opened it, Evelynn nearly lost her resolve. "Fie, I'm scared."  
  
He looked at her with love in those blue eyes, normally so cold. He stepped back from the doorway and motioned for her to come in. "I am too." His voice was hoarse; barely audible, and as Evelynn crossed the threshold into his rooms, she felt a sense of peace and belonging.  
  
When Evelynn awoke the next morning, she felt quite disoriented. Where was she? Suddenly, the events of the night before, that magical night, came rushing back. She rolled over and saw Fistandantilus beside her and knew it had been no dream.  
  
Evelynn felt a sense of peace she'd never felt before, not even while healing people. It was then that Evelynn realized she'd made the right choice for sure. Fistandantilus' stirring brought her out of all philosophical thoughts, back to heaven. "Good morning, Beloved," Evelynn spoke softly, kissing his brow.  
  
Fistandantilus smiled that special smile, the one that made Evelynn's heart race and her pulse quicken. "Good morn, love." It was then as Evelynn got out of bed that she felt something was wrong. She paused, half sitting, half standing. "What is it, dear?"  
  
Evelynn waited a minute, hoping she was wrong. Unfortunately, one thing elves are never wrong about is what is happening within them. When she spoke, her voice came as a croak. "I'm..." She swallowed and looked at her love with sorrow-filled eyes. "I'm..." She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant." She looked away in shame.  
  
Ever the scholar, the first question on Fistandantilus' lips was "How do you know?"  
  
With that as his only response, Evelynn couldn't help but smile weakly at his irrepressible nature. "You see, elves have such low birthrates that we're given to know when we do conceive only hours after, not months like the other species. That way, we can stay away from harmful substances so the baby isn't harmed. Don't worry, no one else will know for at least three or four months. And then, I could most likely blame it on badly cut clothes for another month."  
  
Fistandantilus looked at her, fascinated. "I never knew that! How long is elven pregnancy, anyway?"  
  
Now, Evelynn was getting sick of skirting the problem. "Eleven months. But what will we do?" Tears were forming in her eyes.  
  
Fistandantilus looked at her. "Well," his voice was sensible. "First, get some clothes on and have breakfast. Then, we can talk." He got out of bed and put on his robes, still calm and emotionless.  
  
Evelynn, for once glad of his occasional lack of humanity followed numbly behind. She forced herself to eat, knowing she'd need the strength, though her food seemed to taste like ash.  
  
When they'd both finished, Fistandantilus cleaned up, and sat down again next to Evelynn. "Now, we can talk." Evelynn nodded, still teary-eyed. Fistandantilus put a comforting arm around her and held her close. "Don't cry, Love. It isn't so bad. We'll work through it."  
  
This time, Fie's comforting voice only made Evelynn start crying harder. "How?" She wailed in despair. "How can this ever end?"  
  
Fie held her tightly and stroked her silky hair. "Shh. First, if you wish it, I would like to marry you. I hadn't planned to ask yet, but it will be easier for you if the child looks as though it's born of marriage not wedlock. And don't think I'm saying this because you're pregnant. You're the only person I ever have and ever will love." At that statement, Evelynn's tears subsided.  
  
She looked up at him, her face blotchy and stained with tears. "Truly?" Fistandantilus nodded gently. "What about the other elves?" Evelynn's voice shook.  
  
"Well, first of all, you said you could hide the pregnancy for several months. After that, well, we'll see what will happen. They may make you a dark elf for marrying me in the first place, but would that truly be so terrible? Than, you'd no longer be bound to all of their stupid rules and formalities. You'd be free to live your life as you chose. Everything will be fine."  
  
Evelynn smiled. How often she'd criticized those laws that Fie'd mentioned. Yes. You're right. Things will work out. And, I would love to marry you."  
  
Fie grinned. "When shall it be then?" His voice was eager, for he'd spoken truly. From a particularly interesting pawn, the elf maid had grown on him. Now, he could barely imagine how he could have wanted to put her in danger with his spells. She was his life now; even more important than his magic. For the only power greater than the magic of the gods was the magic of true love.  
  
A week later, after Yule festivities faded away like leaves at the brink of winter, Evelynn and her love stood in front of clerics of the three main gods, as well as those of the gods of magic ready to be married. Though the thought of her pregnancy still loomed over her head like a storm cloud, Evelynn couldn't think of a time she'd been happier.  
  
Fistandantilus looked resplendent in robes so dark they glowed. Runes of power and protection were sewn in gold and silver filigree in the collar, cuffs, and hem.  
  
Evelynn was wearing a dress as alike to the mage's robes as day was to night. Her dress was the purest shade of white any on Krynn could make. Diamonds ringed her head in a tiara. A matching necklace and bracelet graced her lovely neck and wrist. Other diamonds were sewn into the fabric of the dress, so that when she moved, it seemed the sun had come down to Krynn. Not even the Kingpriest himself could match the combined glow of Evelynn's soul and dress this day.  
  
Luckily for her, Evelynn was too happy to notice the cold stares of the elves in the audience. They would have already exiled her had the wedding not been kept secret until the last second. As it was, they were planning on breaking the news as soon as she and the black mage were married.  
  
If asked later what took place at the ceremony, neither Fie nor Evelynn could tell you. All they knew was soon it was over and time for their party. Then however, came something Evelynn would never forget for the rest of her long life. A group of elves came over, their faces grim.  
  
They stopped in front of the newly weds, noticeably cringing back from Fistandantilus. "By order of the Speaker of the Stars, Ruler of the Great Forest of Silvanesti, you are never to return there, on pain of death." Evelynn took an involuntary step back, where Fistandantilus held her protectively.  
  
"You are dead to your people, and your name will be removed from our records so it will be as though you never existed. Any true elves caught talking to you will also be shunned. If our terms are not followed, you shall be executed." The group of elves turned, and true to their word ignored Evelynn's choked pleas.  
  
Fistandantilus held her close. "You knew this was coming dearest. Don't let them ruin our day. Come. We have guests to greet."  
  
Despite Evelynn's sorrow at being named a Dark Elf, she took her husband's advice, and the proclamation was soon just a shadow on the brilliance of the next few days.  
  
Sadly for Evelynn, her dream didn't last very long. It seemed as though nearly no time had passed, and then she suddenly could no longer hide her child. Miraculously, her relationship with Fie had barely changed; the only difference being he treated her even more carefully and kindly.  
  
She knew that time was coming to an end, however, when she saw people staring at her stomach as she walked the halls near Fistandantilus' rooms. Even her fellow elves couldn't help but stare, though they did it with detached distain, as though looking at an unusually shaped dung beetle rather than another elf. The others looked amazed at the fact that anyone could love the normally cold Fistandantilus. Evelynn took to simply giving them a proud smile in return for their stares.  
  
It wasn't long, however, until those smiles turned into grimaces. Though elven pregnancies are eleven months, cramps, kicks, and near contractions plague the women for months before the actual birth. Fistandantilus did all he could for the Dark Elf, even trying to find potions or spells to ease her pain. However, nothing seemed to work.  
  
Soon, Evelynn could barely leave her bed because of her pain. She suspected that her pregnancy was so bad because she was carrying a half- human, but never said so to Fie. She knew how upset he'd be if he knew that he was the cause of her pain, even more than he was already.  
  
If the first five months took a second, the last six took a century. However, it was finally over. With a human midwife presiding, Evelynn went into labor exactly eleven months and eighteen days after she conceived.  
  
The slim elven woman couldn't contain her shrieks of agony as her husband futilely looked for spells to ease childbirth. It was not long into the first stage of labor before Evelynn was no longer able to stand and walk as the midwife recommended. Fistandantilus was driving both women mad by alternately running in to the room in concerned panic and running out with pained determination to find a spell.  
  
Finally, the crowning of the baby's head occurred, and Fistandantilus could no longer stay away from his suffering wife. He was the model husband; holding Evelynn's hand, no matter how hard she squeezed, and he gave her encouragement.  
  
The twenty-eight hours of Evelynn's pregnancy was torture for all – Fie, Evelynn, and even the midwife. The midwife was heard to comment later that she'd never seen an elf live through a pregnancy like Evelynn's. However, finally the baby came out.  
  
Then, it appeared as though Evelynn began to choke. Her eyes rolled back for a second, and when they rolled back, they were bright red, flecked with platinum and black. She had no more visible iris or white in her eyes. When she spoke, it was with an ethereal male voice. Her hands moved as though guided by an invisible force so it appeared that she held two evenly balanced scales.  
  
"Power corrupts, even those of the greatest good. Be warned, Kingpriest. The arrogance must stop, lest the gods become angered. Take the warning now, and none will be harmed. Heed you not this warning and destruction will follow. The others say the child will be great some day." Evelynn's eyes rolled once more, coming back to their natural shade. She collapsed against her bed in an exhausted sigh.  
  
The midwife, seeing her job done, fled from the room in terror. Unbeknownst to Evelynn and Fie, she got a hearing with the Kingpriest and told him everything that had happened. To say the least, he was not pleased, and so decided to pay the 'happy' parents a visit the next morning.  
  
Evelynn awoke the next morning feeling exhausted. About to try and fall back to sleep, she noticed a pounding at the door; presumably what had awakened her. About to get up and reach for her gown, Fistandantilus stopped her. He handed off their new son, who he'd been holding, and went to the door.  
  
Even the mage's normally emotionless demeanor was broken when he saw it was the Kingpriest who'd come to their rooms. "Uh... Come in, sir. To what do we owe this...honor?"  
  
"Stop your mumbling, traitor. I know that you're plotting against me, as you've been for years. I have the proof now."  
  
Fie stared in shock. "Sir? I apologize for my ignorance, but I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
The Kingpriest's luminous face clouded in anger. "You know very weel what I'm talking about. You witched that young woman, first to fall in love with you, and then deliver a "prophesy" from the "gods". I know this is just the latest scheme of your to overthrow me!" The Kingpriest pushed passed the astonished Black Robe.  
  
He walked rapidly into the room where Evelynn was cradling her new baby. When Fistandantilus rushed in behind him, sputtering protests, he quickly silenced the mage with a wave of his hand to the guards, who restrained the mage.  
  
"Archmage Fistandantilus and Lady Evelynn, you are both found guilty of treason."  
  
Evelynn cried out in shock. "What crime have we committed that we are sentenced to death? What has my child done to deserve being orphaned?" Her weariness was forgotten as her natural mothering protection surfaced.  
  
The Kingpriest smiled compassionately. "Because of your child, neither of you will get the death penalty. You, Lady Evelynn, and your child will be banished to another world – a magicless world of humans. Fistandilus, I don't trust you enough to put you out of my sight, so you shall remain here for the remainder of your life, alone and under guard. Fight me, and my compassion may run out. Your sentences will begin tonight at sundown. Try to run, and there will be reprocussions."  
  
He marched out of the room, pure white cloak swirling. Fistandantilus ran to his wife and son as soon as the guards let go of him. They could do naught but sit and weep for several minutes.  
  
When Evelynn got her breath back, she kissed Fie passionately. "what shall we do, my love?"  
  
He sighed deeply. "I believe there is nothing we can do." Despair filled his voice. "We should enjoy our last day together. What shall we name our child?"  
  
Evelynn considered. "Well, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to name him Fie, after you, so I have something living to remember you by." Fistandantilus agreed.  
  
The rest of the day passed in much the same manner, the new parents talking about the mundane, trying to forget about the sentence that lay over their heads like a storm cloud. All too soon, it was sunset. Both of them were required to be in the Kingpriest's audience chamber, and they walked slowly, savoring each minute they had left.  
  
Evelynn wore a dress the color of dead leaves, an elven symbol of mourning. She carried with her a bag with a few other gowns, baby clothes, and one of Fie's robes. Around her neck was a locket with Fie's picture artfully drawn in it. The Black Robe had a similar necklace hanging next to his heart with Evelynn's picture.  
  
All too soon, the guards dragged Fie away from his wife. A few mages under the Kingpriest's control had opened a portal of swirling color, presumably to this other world. Without ceremony, the guards roughly pushed Evelynn through. The last the she heard of Krynn was Fistandantilus' anguished cry: "Evelynn!!!"  
  
Once the Elven woman was through, the portal closed. Fie spoke, death in his voice. "Let my heart be hardened that it may never break again. The pain you've caused me shall never be forgotten, nor shall it be forgiven." ...  
  
...Dalamar closed the book with a snap. Well, now he knew. Fie was the descendent of Fistandantilus. He was surprised at how much the story touched him. He supposed it was because he could really relate to Evelynn. He suddenly remembered something about the prophesy of his daughter. Could it be?  
  
A/N: Hope you enjoyed, sorry it took me so long. I also apologize for any anachronisms, I did my best. I know that the Kingpriest's rant was a bit OOC, and that Fistandantilus isn't usually portrayed like this, but that's why it's called fanfic. By the way, if I get a good enough response, I may turn this chapter into it's own story, with more details added. To my wonderful reviewers:  
  
Jade: Glad you're happy – did you really think I'd write a story without Dally?  
  
Guan: Your sense of humor is perfectly fine. (at least it's similar to mine, not that that's saying much!) I had a lot of fun writing that last chapter.  
  
Casey: Thank you! Hope you read and liked this chapter as well.  
  
Pen D.: Thanks for being one of my most faithful reviewers!  
  
Spiritu Puro: Thank you for the praise – you're changing your mind is some of the best praise an author could ask for. Thank you for the lovely review, and I hope you liked this chappie.  
  
Archmagus: I inspire you?! Blushes Yeah – about Dally, Parsley, and Ladonna. I do tend to see, and try to bring out the better sides of 'bad guys' in DL, because they've originally been written with a very fun better side. On top of which, I just don't like Par-Salian, and to emphasize that had to make Ladonna nicer. Hope this chapter lived up to your expectations.  
  
**A Cry for Help!:** To my loyal reviewers and fellow fans – Sorry this wasn't up immediately with this chapter, I forgot. There is a generalization in this chapter that should not be there. During Evelynn's prophesy from Gilean, Gilean says 'the others say..." That is not referring to all of the other gods. I meant to say the name of the god who is allied with neutrality who lives in all planes of time at once. This is crucial to the story, as this god has no idea what time he (or she?) is talking about. However, I forgot this god's name, and couldn't find it in a cursory search through Summer Flame, where I believe it was mentioned. If anyone knows the name, I would be forever thankful if you'd e-mail it to me. Thank you for your constant help and support. Dalamar


	7. Impaled on My Wall

Disclaimer: Yeah, you know the drill. Anything you recognize is from DL. I also don't own England, James Bond, or LOTR.  
  
This chapter and the last are dedicated to Rivin Tarinius Majere, my Shalafi, best friend, well of ideas, sometimes Beta, and partner in crime (Elven wine... hehehe...) She helped me bring the last chapter from it's original, most pitiful state, to what is (hopefully) a much better romantic tragedy. I can't thank you enough for your constant help and support.  
  
By the way, if you haven't already, please, please read the note at the very end of Chapter 6 – it's really important. Thanks.  
  
** Impaled on My Wall, My Eyes Can Dimly See**

When Catherine got to her room, she was shocked. This man's guest room was bigger than the room that had housed all twelve of the orphans her age! There was a huge bed in one end of the room, with deep black sheets and blankets. The pillows were a dark maroon.  
  
There were a few chairs, as plush as the one she'd found herself in when first coming to in this strange place surrounding a table with a basket of fluffy bread and a bowl of fresh fruit. Some of the fruit she recognized, such as apples, oranges, and grapes. Other things however, were totally alien, such a slightly heart-shaped blue/purple fruit in the center. Eyes wide with wonder, she sat down and helped herself to bread, fruit, and a bit of water from the pitcher on the table. She stayed away from the liquid that looked suspiciously like wine, not because she was such a goody-two-shoes she wouldn't drink underage, but because in movies, if someone was being drugged, it was always in the wine.  
  
Catherine took a tiny bite of the apple, and found it sweeter, and somehow more real than anything she'd tasted before. Soon, she forgot all caution she had about the food, and was eating hungrily. How dangerous could it be, anyway? If that man wanted to do something to her, she'd been unconscious for a while already. She sat back, contentedly. The rest of the food had been just as delicious as the apple.  
  
Suddenly, Catherine felt quite exhausted. She stumbled to the huge bed, and pulled of her clothes, exchanging them for the black pajamas on the bed. She tired was she that she didn't wonder how they were exactly her size. She climbed into the bed and sighed at how soft it was. As her eyes closed quickly, she realized it was the water that had been drugged. 

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After a few hours of a deep sleep, Dalamar woke once more to the morning sunlight pouring into his room. He stretched, weary from his long night. At first, he felt a bit confused; thinking the events of the previous day might have just been a very odd dream. But then, he remembered – it had started when he was scrying, and unless this was an extremely long bad dream, it was real.  
  
Then, Dalamar turned his thoughts to his guests, and one in particular. Thinking of him, he brightened considerably. Interrogating the young man who'd attempted to attack him promised to be quite amusing. Dalamar put on his robes and waved his hand, and suddenly, he was standing just outside of the small room in which the gang leader was locked.  
  
Dalamar realized abruptly that he was missing a couple of things. However, that was quickly remedied with the help of the spectres. Within seconds, he'd accumulated a few truth potions, the spell scroll needed for a strong protective barrier, and a bit of food for his captive.  
  
With the spectre preceding him, Dalamar glided into the room. The boy was sitting on the one, hard chair in the room, looking daggers back at him. With a snap of his fingers, a comfortable, plush chair from the room upstairs appeared for Dalamar. He loved how easy it was to transport things within the tower! He sat down with a sigh.  
  
"Now," Dalamar began, addressing the glaring teen. "We shall begin. If you cooperate, there will be no trouble. If, on the other hand, you attempt to lie, or attack me, I will magically bind you, and force you to drink this truth potion. Understand?"  
  
The teenage continued to glare. "Who the fuck are you, you freak? And what the hell gives you the right to bring me here and lock me up? I have powerful connections, you know." He motioned threateningly at the Dark Elf.  
  
Dalamar smiled slightly. "I'm sure you do," he murmured. "I'm sure you do. Now," he raised his voice slightly so that the weak-eared human would not have to strain to hear him. "To start, what is your name? Remember, no lies."  
  
The bully spat at Dalamar, his nature unchangeable. "I'm ... the Queen of England. Now who are you?"  
  
Dalamar raised one delicate eyebrow. "Did I not tell you to speak the truth? However, if it will help, my name is Dalamar. Never the less, I suggest you not attempt to try my patience again." He steepled his fingers and slowly tapped them together.  
  
It seemed not even this sinister gesture could shake the teenager. "All right then, the name's Bond. James Bond." The bully crossed his arms in defiance.  
  
Dalamar sighed. "I'd hoped that it wouldn't come to this, but I see you'll force me." He waved his hand in a bored fashion, and the boy found himself being secured to the chair by two disembodied hands, as two more held his legs. Dalamar slowly got up and walked over with his vial of truth serum.  
  
The teen tried to moved his head out of Dalamar's grasp once he realized the spectres weren't letting go. He snapped his mouth shut with all of his strength, however he was no match for the dark elf, who's hands, though slender, were strong as iron. Dalamar forced his mouth open, and poured the potion down his throat. With a snap, he allowed the boy's mouth to close, and he held the teen's nose to force him to swallow.  
  
The bully swallowed reluctantly, and Dalamar let go, walking back to his chair. "What the fuck was that shit?" The teen was still struggling against the spectres, whose only problem was resisting the urge to suck the life out of the boy.  
  
Dalamar rolled his eyes. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as amusing as he'd thought. "I told you already – truth serum. Now, answer my question. What is your name? And you must answer, or the potion will hurt you."  
  
The bully rolled his eyes, also tired of their game. "Arash Matar. Happy now?"  
  
Dalamar hadn't even started at the boy's last name. He'd expected as much. He idly wondered how many other children Kitiara had given birth to. Now, though, he just smiled. "Quite. Now, you will tell me why you were harming my daughter." His voice was like ice – cold and hard.  
  
Arash smirked. "She was hitting on me." He grinned. "Guess your ol' truth potion didn't work so well, now did it?" As he finished saying that, an angry red weal spread across his face, as though he'd been slapped very hard. His mouth opened in shock, for there weren't even spectres in sight, other than the ones holding his limbs.  
  
Now it was Dalamar's turn to smirk. "No? Thank you for telling me." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now, answer me. Why were you hurting my daughter?"  
  
Finally, the bully's tough exterior was wearing away. "Look, me an' my friends were just having a bit of fun. No harm done. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known this would happen!"  
  
Though Dalamar was furious at the boy's idea of fun, he couldn't help but smile. Arash reminded him of some of the Elven princelings he'd been forced to serve during his days in Silvanesti. Tough as long as they had control, but petrified once someone stronger came along. "Fun, was it? I see. Now, what would you say if I told you I wanted to have some 'fun' with you?" The dark elf smiled menacingly.  
  
Arash looked at the elf in shock. "What the fuck do you mean, pervert?"  
  
Dalamar rolled his eyes. When making cynical statements, one usually guesses that they're based on the other person's previous, generally idiotic statement. Obviously this human didn't know that. "I mean why don't we have a little fight of our own. My magic versus your fists. We'll see who's having fun then." He smiled as the true meaning of his words hit Arash, and he was gratified with a look of terror.  
  
"Look, mister, I'm sorry I hurt your daughter and all. I didn't know, and I won't do it again. Now, could you let me go? Kidnapping's illegal, where I come from, anyway!"  
  
Dalamar smirked. What was it with these children and kidnapping? "Well, I'm sure you will beat people up again for the 'fun' of it, because that's how you are. As to kidnapping, illegal here as well, but I've never exactly played by the rules anyway. I'll let you go back sooner or later, though. But, before I let you go, you can answer a couple more questions for me."  
  
Dalamar smiled in his most intimidating manner. "Now, remember to be perfectly honest with me. Who are your parents?"  
  
Arash spoke, his voice forced. "My parents are Lucifer and Delilah Asmodeus." The teen felt a phantom nail start to rip across his arm, and he started speaking again rapidly. "Well, they're not my true parents." The pain stopped. "Both of my parent's died when I was young. I don't remember them at all much. I carry my mother's surname."  
  
Dalamar looked at the boy. He was finally talking. "Are you sure you remember nothing of your true parents?"  
  
The teen looked surprised at this new personal question. "Yo, why're you prying into my family?" Dalamar raised his hand as if to call back the spectres. Arash quailed. "Well, not much. I vaguely remember a flash of light, and my father going around to different houses, trying to find foster parents for me. I don't know, it may just be a dream, or something constructed later in life from stories." He shrugged.  
  
Dalamar nodded. That made sense. "What about your foster parents? What kind of people are they?"  
  
Arash thought for a minute, having decided already it was much safer just to talk. "Well, they look kind of like me, tall with dark hair. My mother was a spy for the U.S..." He cried out in pain. "All right! She was a spying on the U.S. for another country. She was supposed to spy for the U.S., but turned rogue."  
  
Dalamar motioned for him to continue. "My father..." He hesitated, and Dalamar raised one eyebrow, promising pain if the question wasn't answered. "My father is the leader of an underground group connected to the church. They cause pain to the scum of the earth – Jews, blacks, homos, and all that crap. Sometimes, I join him."  
  
Dalamar was disgusted! He would have left the boy to the spectres, but he felt the child might still be of some use. He was disgusted by the boy's prejudices, and callus way of talking about them. There were many adjectives used to describe Dalamar Argent, but (so he hoped) prejudiced was not one of them. He'd always felt that next to rape, hate crimes were some of the worst. As a dark elf, I should know about hate crimes, Dalamar thought wryly to himself. Without another word, he left the sadistic Arash in the room alone with the tray of food. Dalamar didn't bother opening the door – it would slow his departure.  
  
Dalamar reappeared in his room. He was quite satisfied with that morning's work. His suspicions had been confirmed about Arash. He'd inherited many physical traits from his mother.  
  
Once more, he was disgusted by humans' ability to be cruel. Sure, he was a dark elf, but there was a big difference between evil and sadistic cruelty! He shook his head. What else could be expected from a child of Kit and Ariakus? For that is who Dalamar was sure was the father of young Arash. Dalamar decided he needed a glass of his special vintage of Elven wine before questioning any of his other guests.

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Blearily, Fie rubbed his eyes. What had happened? Where was he? He looked around, still half asleep. Then, he remembered. After the fight, he'd passed out, and had awakened in this beautiful room. On the small table in the lounge area, there had been a letter.  
  
'Young guest,' it had said, 'You are now safe from the bullies. More will be explained in due time, but for now, I invite you to enjoy my hospitality. Food and drink is on the table, and you will find clothes for the night on the bed. Make yourself at home. Signed, Dalamar, Master of the Tower.'  
  
A naturally trusting young man, Fie had taken the letter on it's word, and enjoyed the delicious fruits and bread on the table. Now, he realized how stupid that was. He'd barely had time to change into the pajamas, (which were somehow the exactly the right size) when he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.  
  
Now that he was slightly more awake, Fie realized he must have been drugged. He thought, however, that he was in the same physical state he'd been the day before, so not much could have happened to him while he was asleep.  
  
Stumbling into the bathroom, he found not a sink, but a bowl of water. Shrugging, he washed his face off. Going back into the bedroom, he looked around. On the plush armchair were some clothes, looking as though they'd fit as perfectly as the pajamas did.  
  
Fie walked over to the clothes, and saw, to his amazement, that they looked like something that belonged as a costume in the Renaissance Fair. He looked around for the clothes he'd worn yesterday, and not being able to find them, decided it was better to be caught in breeches and a tunic than pajamas.  
  
After changing, Fie wandered over to the table. He sat down, but didn't touch the food, having been made wary. He then saw another letter at his place.  
  
In the same flowery script as the night before, this letter read: 'Dear Mr. Dante, I apologize for the potion in your food last night, but it was important that you not get in my way. I assure you, the food this morning is perfectly safe. At the tenth hour of the morning, one of the spectres will lead you to my study. Try not to be too scared by the spectre – they don't like that. I apologize once more for the fright. Sincerely, Dalamar, Master of the Tower.'  
  
Fie put the letter down in shock, not sure what to make of it. How did the sender know his name? And how did the letter get into his room? And spectres? What in the world could be meant by spectres? What Fie didn't know was that at that moment, Catherine was thinking nearly the same things.  
  
A couple of minutes later, Fie felt a freezing tap on his shoulder, and could not repress a shudder as he turned around. He hadn't even heard the door open! When he saw what was behind him, he understood why.  
  
Hovering mid-air was a disembodied, ghostly hand. With one finger, the hand beckoned to him. Mute with shock and fear, Fie stood. He didn't want to find out what would happen if he displeased the spectre, which is what it surely was. He followed meakly out of the door.  
  
After several flights of circular stairs, Fie reached what he assumed to be the study. He was pleased to see that Catherine was there as well, in a more feminine version of his own clothes. He would have liked to see her reaction if she'd been left with only a dress, but it seemed as though that wasn't a problem. The study was as magnificent as his bedroom had been, but better. Because, you see, on the walls of this study, there were literally hundreds of books. Fie's hands itched to go over and look at them.  
  
However, after seeing the occupant of the chair behind the table in the center of the room, he decided against looking at the wonderful books, and the other interesting objects scattered around the room. The man -was it even human?- was wearing long, black robes. His dark hair flowed past his shoulders, and most incredibly, his ears were pointed! Fie gulped. This sure didn't look like the Lady of Lorien!  
  
"Greetings, young Mr. Dante. As I'm sure you've surmised, I am Dalamar Argent, the temporary Master of this Tower of High Sorcery. Now, please sit down, and make yourself comfortable. If there's anything I can get you?" Fie shook his head. "Well, then, we have much to discuss."

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Well, I hope you enjoyed this; there may not be more for a while. I have a feeling my other stories need attention. Please review!  
  
Jade: I'm glad you enjoyed, I think that my added note to the last chapter might give you the hint you need to figure out where I'm going with this.  
  
Guan: Thank you. Sorry about the tragedy aspect, but I meant for it to be.  
  
Casey: Your opinion most certainly does matter – I love my reviewers, and take their advice to heart. As I said to Guan, saying it was sad is really a compliment in this case, though I apologize if you didn't like the style.


	8. The Pattern of My Life

**Disclaimer:** As I have yet to take over the world, DL doesn't belong to me, and neither do Simon and Garfunkle. I also don't own Tolkien's Elvish, and I hope you purists will excuse my poor grammar in it. I still haven't gotten around to reading my language book, and so, though the words are correct for the most part, the sentence structure is based on English.  
  
**The Pattern of My Life, And the Puzzle That is Me**

"As I've already partly explained to Catherine, you are now on a world called Krynn. This is the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas, a Tower that had been inaccessible until the coming of my former Master, Raistlin Majere; the greatest dark mage to walk the face of Krynn. I am Dalamar Argent, called Dalamar the Dark for my allegiance to the god of evil magic. However, I mean you no harm.

"Recently, I found out, by way of a scrying spell, that Catherine was my daughter, of which I'd previously been completely unaware. This would explain her stunted physical growth, as half-elves age at half the rate of full-humans.

"And you, Mr. Dante, I believe are the descendent of a dark mage who lived four hundred years ago, and was second in his arts only to my Master." Dalamar continued to talk for a while, summarizing for the two teens the reasons for their presence on Earth.

When done, the teens stared at him speechless. Fie, still annoyed about the drugging was the first to speak. "So, you're saying that there's some old woman on Earth who's over four hundred years old, and she's my distant relation? And that you can do magic? I don't believe you, on either count."

Before Dalamar could respond, Catherine cut in. "So my dreams were actually memories? I've always wondered why my ears sometimes bothered me, and I guess that's why." Her voice trailed away.

"Yes, Catherine, I'm afraid it is true, and terribly sorry I could not prevent it. And Fie, I suppose your attitude is understandable, as you were unconscious when I brought you here. Since you are incredulous, I will show you some of my magic. I believe I will try to contact the Lady Evelynn, and bring her here if she wishes it."

Before the young man could react, Dalamar took his scrying bowl, still full of water, off of the shelf, and set it on the desk. He grabbed Fie's hand and nicked it with his small silver knife. A drop of blood fell into the bowl, and he dropped Fie's hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Fuck! You could've given me AIDS or something!" The normally well-spoken and polite Fie was scared into cursing at this uncalled-for attack.

Dalamar merely shook his head and motioned the teens closer. Catherine moved her chair up and peered into the bowl. She gasped when she saw the blood swirling to form an image of Fie's mother. "Fie," she croaked. "You should see this."

Reluctantly, Fie came closer as well, shooting a death glare at the mage, who paid no attention. He too gasped when he saw his mother in the bowl. "This may take a while." Dalamar sounded resigned.

He muttered words under his breath, only glancing at each face before changing it. Catherine and Fie looked on in awe and amazement as every living member of the Dante line was shown to them briefly.

Finally, after what seemed hours of flashing faces, Dalamar allowed the images to stop swirling as the image of an ancient looking woman came up. She had long hair of pure silver bound in a single braid, and she was every bit as slim as she'd been in her youth, but her face was now wrinkled with lines born of age, laughter, and sorrow. She was apparently looking in a mirror, and to Catherine and Fie, it looked as though she was in a nursing home or hospital.

"Perfect," Dalamar murmured. He spoke another word of power, and the woman in the bowl's expression changed. It was obvious from her surprise that she could now see Dalamar, who was bending further over the bowl.

"No..." The woman in the mirror whispered. "I can't be going crazy. I they put me in a hospital, they'll see my ears..." She rubbed her eyes vigorously, crying out softly when the apparition in her mirror didn't go away.

"Lady Evelynn?" Dalamar's voice was soft and soothing.

"Who are you? Go away! If they see me talking to a mirror..."

She started to turn away. "Evelynn, celao. Nan moriquendi ve nalye. Lastlye." He turned to the teens. "I just told her I'm a dark elf, as she is, and that she should listen to me." They turned their attentions back on the bowl.

Evelynn turned back slowly. "Am I dreaming in Elvish?" An expression of awe was on her face.

Dalamar switched back to English now that he had her attention. "No, My Lady, this is real. It is over three hundred years after you were banished to Earth. My name is Dalamar Argent, born to House Servitor of Silvanesti. I was exiled for practicing dark magic."

"Argent? My mind is cruel to remind me of my servant. My sister." Her eyes were sad.

"My Lady? Do you wish to return to Krynn?"

"You're in my mind, damn it! Why bother asking? Of course I do." She started to weep.

"Do something!" Fie was obviously upset by his relative's distress.

However, Dalamar was concentrating too hard to notice Fie's call. He had taken some rose petals and what looked suspiciously like bat guano and was rubbing them together. He then took out a small vial and saturated the mixture. A revolting smell rose from it all, but Dalamar seemed not to notice. He put the small pile on the ground in the open, and started to chant.

Suddenly, both teens gasped as a glowing gateway rose from the floor upward about seven feet. Dalamar smirked at them; smile saying plainly "Believe me now?" He then took a step, half crossing the threshold.

Fascinated, Fie stared back into the bowl. Much to his surprise, he saw the portal behind Evelynn, and Dalamar's body half way through it. He tried not to look up, because it was nothing short of sickening seeing half of the elf in one room and the other half through a bowl in another. Dalamar cleared his throat gently to get Evelynn's attention and lightly took her arm.

"Where are you taking me? Don't lock me away!" Though the woman was obviously upset, she kept her voice low, so as not to attract any attendants.

"It's all right, My Lady." Dalamar's voice was the most gentle Catherine had ever heard it, and without any trace of it's usual bite or sarcasm. He brushed his hair back to reveal his pointed ears. "You can trust me. Come. We'll leave this place. You'll never have to go back." He pulled her through the portal. Having none of her former strength, Evelynn could not resist the elf's gentle pull.

"There." Dalamar conjured the most comfortable chair in the Tower for her, and she sank down into its soft cushions.

"Where am I? Am I dead?" Her voice was relatively joyful at that prospect. It was obvious that the elderly elf had given up on life long ago, and the only thing keeping her alive was the fact that elves held life in such high regard that she couldn't throw hers away.

"No, My Lady Evelynn, you are not dead. You are on Krynn, in the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas. I am Dalamar, a dark elf like yourself. After you left Krynn, the Kingpriest and all of his followers were punished for their hubris by the gods, who destroyed Istar and rearranged the face of Krynn. Fistandantilus passed away during the Cataclysm."

Dalamar decided not to let Evelynn know how much of a monster Fistandantilus became after her departure. He judged, most likely accurately, that that would be the last straw, and the woman's already waning sanity would fail.

"I would that I'd died with him. Then I could've given Paladine a piece of my mind." A bit of the Lady's old fire was returning. "Where is Ramalad? I want to talk to her."

Dalamar shook his head. "I'm sorry, My Lady, I know no one named Ramalad. I apologize most sincerely. Is there anything else I could do for you?"

"Do you have any fruit? I feel terribly hungry."

"Of course, Lady Evelynn." He conjured a bowl of fruit similar to that that was in the guest rooms.

Evelynn snatched the blue-purple fruit up. "A heartfruit! I haven't seen one of these in years." She took a big bite, and chewed with obvious relish. It was only then that she seemed to notice the others in the room. "You. Boy! Come here." She gestured at Fie. Fie walked over, hesitant. "You look exactly like him. You're one of my descendants, aren't you?

"I suppose so, Ma'am. Assuming that the story Dalamar told me was true, I'm named for your husband, Fie."

"Of course." She seemed to be gaining her old vitality more and more with each sentence. Fie recognized it- many old people had an excellent long-term memory, even if their sanity in the present was slipping. "So, this is real. I'm really back amongst magic again. It can't be a dream, because I've never seen a place like this, or this young man or that young lady. It must be real." She seemed to have completely accepted that she was just taken into another world.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, out of nowhere, Evelynn spoke. "It never came true you know. The prophesy."

"Lady, I just told you. After you departed, the Kingpriest was given death for his arrogance and ..."

Evelynn cut him off. "No, not that part. I may be old, but I'm not daft. The part about my son becoming great. The last part. If I remember correctly, it was 'Zivilyn says the child will be great, someday.' That horrible prophesy. Why couldn't the gods have chosen some other to deliver their message? Why couldn't I have fought it? Then I'd never have had to go to that cursed world. And it never even came true! Was he rich? No! Did he find true love? No! Nothing. He was a good-for-nothing thief of a noble, content to play their court games for his whole life. It never even came true..." She was obviously slipping closer to insanity again as she burst into tears.

"Do you wish to go to a guest room, My Lady?" Dalamar was obviously made uncomfortable by the woman's piteous cries. At her nod of ascent, Dalamar summoned one of the spectres and Evelynn followed it out to yet another guest room. He handed her a handkerchief as she walked out, which she took gratefully. Now, he turned once more to the teens. "Now, children. I think if while you're here, it would be best if you learned some things."

**A/N:** Well, I hope you enjoyed. Sorry that Evelynn went insane. I just had to! The bunnies made me do it! Oh, and this chapter is cause for celebration! Exact half point of the story! Only 8 chapters to go!!! Oh, reviewer poll, really quickly. And an honest opinion, please. Do you think the story would be improved if Raist entered the picture? Again, please don't say yes just because you love him; we all do. (Slashers: that comment was completely platonic, and if you quote me on it, you are _**so**_ being used as a lab rat in my next evil experiment!) So, tell me if you think that would be a good plot device. That is, in the review, which you do have to write! Wow, long AN...

Jade: Thanks much. Maybe you'll be able to guess what I've planned then about the prophesy!

Pen D. Fox: Thanks for reviewing!

Kenderling: Glad you liked my little interlude with Fistandantilus. I figured there had to be a reason why he was so evil! Sorry about the confusion over Arash's parentage. I put Dalamar's comment in there for just that reason. About the Q&A scene, you're not sadistic, at least not more than I am. I had a great time writing it, and was likely cackling to myself as I did. Thanks for all of your helpful comments.

Casey: Thanks! Sorry this one took so long.

Guan: Glad you liked.

Spiritu Puro: (6) Thanks so much for the praise. I think it may be my favorite chapter too (hence, now it has its own fic) Thanks for the offer, though I'm good for now. (7) Glad you liked my planning, though how he's going to get involved has yet to be revealed to me even!

Aliana Archer: Glad you enjoyed. You were so close on the guesses. Hope you continued to read.

Petalwing: (1) Oh, yeah, if she does go back to Earth, which she hasn't told me yet, she is totally getting sued when she's older. (2) No, they didn't rape her. And the police were... at ... an office party! Yeah, that's it. The bunnies made them do it! (3) Oh, you good! (4) Yeah, you gotta love Parsley. Makes you wonder how he got to be a mage, let alone Head of the Conclave! The idiot... (5) Thanks for saying I potrayed Dally correctly, and I completely understand what you're saying. (6) Yeah, I love that chappie too. (7) I know, Fie is so innocent and naive. But, he didn't eat anything. He slept too late!

A. N. Winterz: This is the one you reviewed, no? Sorry, I deleted the note from my inbox before realizing I needed to write a response, and the note on the story hasn't come up yet. Well, anyway, glad you started this and are liking it. Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	9. From the Moment of my Birth

**Disclaimer:** Characters? What characters? Oh those characters. I think you misplaced them; they're surely not mine. I was just holding them for safekeeping. 

**A/N:** Sorry about the long wait! I believe that Fie (the elder, my muse) was mad at me for what I did to Evelynn in the last chapter, so he's been holding out on me. Finally, now, he's allowed some inspiration to seep through, so here is an extra-long chapter, written in only two days, to assuage your literary hunger. By the way, I do hope that there are no Usha or Palin fans out there…

**From the Moment of My Birth to the Instant of My Death**

On the island of the Irda, Chaos was plotting. A day and a night previous, he felt a great evil enter the world. A great evil, but a malleable one. He had lain in wait for the Irda's arrogance to force them to break open the Greygem for years, but, as his name implies, Chaos does not frequently carry out his plans to the end. With the arrival of the new source of evil, he smiled. He would not now have to wait until the creations of his wayward children facilitated his freedom. He could get it himself, and much more quickly.

Chaos burst free from the magical prison that the Irda had constructed around the Greygem, pitifully thinking that it would contain him. He laughed as the magical backlash blew up the island. The pyre created by the island's destruction was so high that it would be seen even from the continent of Ansalon, across the planet's curve. The mortals would celebrate something they thought to be a sign of the favor of their little "gods". Chaos smirked at the folly of the mortals. With all speed, Chaos traveled towards the source of that most wonderfully malleable evil.

At the Tower of Palanthas, Dalamar was talking to his daughter and her best friend about magic. "Based on your lineage, you both likely contain the essence needed to make a mage, if you are willing to take the risks. Of course," Dalamar's eyes were hesitant. "If you don't want to learn…"

He was cut off by two ecstatic teenagers. "I could actually learn…" Catherine's voice was choked in wonder.

Fie's eyes were as big a saucers and his gaze was intense. "I would give _anything_ to learn magic." Now that he had seen concrete proof of the elven mage's power, he would stop at nothing to learn how that power could be achieved.

With a start, Dalamar recognized that ambition in his young charge's eyes. He had not seen that great ambition since his Shalafi had been alive. All of these thoughts, however, were hidden beneath Dalamar's normal, expressionless mask. "Let us start immediately, then."

The teens spent the next few hours learning to speak the words of magic. It was a lesson that had taken Raistlin's first teacher, Theobald weeks to teach, but between the competence of the master and the focus of the students, Fie and Kit had learned all of the necessary pronunciation rules by lunchtime. When Fie's stomach growled embarrassingly, Dalamar called a halt.

With a snap of his fingers, one of the spectres came through the door with a tray of food. Catherine hesitantly looked up at her new-found father, not wanting to offend a person she was beginning to respect. "I don't eat any …" Her voice trailed off when she realized that there was no meat on the tray.

Dalamar's mouth curved slightly into a smile. "Most elves cannot stand the taste of another being's flesh. Our lunches are usually simply fruit, bread, and cheese. Dinner is more elaborate if there is time, but is still free of meat. You two are good students." The abrupt change of subject momentarily put the teens off balance.

"I've always known that magic existed." Catherine's voice was dreamy. "I wonder if that one spell actually did work…"

Dalamar looked at her with interest. "You made a spell work, untrained?"

Catherine shook her head. "I don't know. Whenever I read a supposedly non-fiction book of magic, I always try at least one of the spells mentioned. The spell I tried was elementary, the calling of fire. I could've sword I saw sparks, but I am not sure. I may have just been seeing things. I could never replicate it." Her voice trailed away disconsolately.

"Its quite possible that the spell really did work, assuming that the book did contain a form of magic that works on your world. Come to think of it, it is possible that it was not even a true spell, but that your want was so great at that point that you were able to perform the action without the correct words, components, and motions. That would explain why you never could reproduce the sparks; you had begun to doubt yourself, so your want could never parallel that first time. Enough talk of past magics, however. If you are done?" The teens were, so Dalamar motioned for another spectre to remove the dirty trays. The spectre glared at him balefully for a second, and then hurried to do his bidding.

"Now, since you have been learning so well, I have decided to give you a bit of a break. I will now teach you a minor spell, one to cause sleep. It is one of the easiest spells to perform, and only requires sand as a component. Now, repeat after me: _droshi_."

"Won't that set the spell in motion?" Fie was skeptical.

"Without the proper components, the spell will not work. Some magi, like my Shalafi, did learn to cast without spell components, but it is a very rare skill, and a difficult one to acquire. There is no need for you to worry about actually casting the spell while you are learning to pronounce it. Now :_ droshi_." Dalamar's stern countenance warned off any further interruption.

Dutifully, the two impromptu apprentices repeated the arcane word. "_Droshi!_" Dalamar blinked sleepily. He really needed to stop staying up so late, doing research. Especially after so much spell-casting!

"Very good. Now, you will take turns casting the spell at me." He handed each teen a handful of sand. "You will only need a pinch of that each time. I will place magical shields around myself, because it won't do for me to keep dropping off to sleep every few minutes, but I will be able to feel whether or not the spell was successful. Catherine?"

Fie moved aside, letting his friend stand directly in front of her father. Catherine nervously shifted the majority of the sand to her left hand, while she took a pinch in her right hand, the dominant one. Dalamar motioned that he was ready for her to cast the spell. Kit closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, determination shone through. "_DROSHI!_" The half-elf yelled as she tossed the sand.

Dalamar smiled with pride in his daughter as the powerful spell hit his shield and dissipated. Had they been fighting, and the sleep spell been a war spell, it would have taken less then three more spells on Catherine's part to break down Dalamar's formidable shield, or so he estimated. "Very good. You definitely seem to have a congenital affinity for magic. Now, let Fie have a try."

Fie waited politely as Dalamar strengthened his shield. When Dalamar signaled that he was ready once more, Fie took a bit of the sand in his left hand. "_Droshi._" He tossed the sand with an elegant gesture, and his spell was spoken in a tone barely above a whisper. Suddenly, the elf before them crumpled, breathing calmly with the peace of a deep sleep.

Fie winced as Catherine looked at him in awe. "Oops." His voice was embarrassed, amused, and proud in equal measures. "I guess I had a bit too much will." He and Catherine walked over to the snoozing mage and shook him. He didn't wake up.

"I'd say more than a bit!" Catherine's voice was dry. "I wonder if we could get one of those spectre things to get us some water." She snapped her fingers as she'd seen Dalamar do, to no avail.

Fie attempted to snap, and found, much to Catherine's amusement, that it was harder than it looked. Finally, with a glare at his traitor fingers, he clapped sharply. A spectre drifted through the wall immediately. "Whhhaat isss it, Massster?" Both teens were startled to here the spectre's voice, a thin, reedy sound that almost suggested bones grinding together.

"A pitcher of cold water, please." Fie recovered his voice first, and made his request in his normal polite manner.

"Yessss, Massster." The spectre made the ghostly equivalent of a bow and disappeared. Within seconds, it was back with a large pitcher of ice water. Fie gravely accepted the burden and lugged it over to the comatose mage. With a wince in simpathy for the beautiful rug on the floor, he heaved it over, soaking Dalamar's face and upper chest.

Dalamar sat up with a start. "But I did wash the tables before I went to sleep, Sir!" The elf was completely disoriented, and in that confusion reverted back to some childhood memory.

"Dalamar?" Catherine's voice was anxious. "Are you all right?" She knelt down by her father as he took a few breaths, getting his bearings.

Dalamar shook his head to clear it, suddenly shivering as his nerves finally reacted to the freezing water. "What happened?" He blearily rubbed his eyes.

"You were teaching us a sleep spell, Sir. Remember?" Fie was hesitant, worried that he might have done something the Dark Elf would be displeased about.

"That is the strongest sleep spell I have encountered in my life, young man, especially from an amateur. It seems that more than just a name was passed on from your esteemed ancestor, and that his blood was, if anything strengthened from its time on Earth." He shook his head again in wonder. "Lessons are over for today. You may explore either the library or the Tower itself. Do not attempt to enter the laboratory. The spectres have been ordered to bar anyone entry, using force if necessary. The spectres can be quite nasty when provoked." With that, Dalamar disappeared from the room, presumably retreating to his own rooms.

"Are you up for touring the tower?" Catherine grinned at Fie, curiosity shining through her eyes.

"Sure. Which way do you want to go?" Fie held the door for her.

"I dunno. Up?" She chuckled at her rather idiotic answer, and Fie smiled back. He took the lead as they began to trudge up the stairs.

"Catherine, what color robes do you think you will wear if we stay here and become mages?" Fie's tone was pensive.

"I don't know, really. I hadn't thought about it at all." In his explanation of their histories, Dalamar had also explained the benefits and problems of all of the magical Orders in an admirably even-handed manner. "I suppose the Red Robes. I've never thought of myself as being particularly "Good", as my school record must show, but I don't think I could be "Evil" either. Why? What about you?"

"I was just curious. I think I would become a Black Robe like Dalamar." He looked over to see Catherine's shocked expression. "As Dalamar said, it's the quickest way to power. Though I have no plans of world domination or anything like that, the magic, when it was cast felt so… It was like a drug almost, but one I knew couldn't hurt me. I was the most wonderful feeling in the world."

"But Dalamar also said that the White Robes bring the most power." Catherine's voice let none of her emotions through.

"I don't know about that. I mean, based on what he's taught us so far, the names that everyone on Krynn knows are his Master Raistlin's, and my own ancestor Fistandantilus. Yes, that head of the Conclave he was telling us about, what was his name? Parsley or something… He was one of the most powerful in his order, and his power was nothing compared to Raistlin's. Maybe since we're under the tutelage of a Black Robe we wouldn't have heard of those of Good with the most power, but Dalamar had stressed balance between the Orders. I think that each has their strengths and weaknesses, but overall, each of the orders can achieve the most power. It doesn't seem to be a question around here, though, that Black Robes acquire theirs the most quickly."

"Oh." Catherine was more than a little scared by her friend's new lust for magical power. She was silent until they reached the top of an interesting looking landing. There were two spectres guarding a huge doorway. Fie got off of the spiral staircase and started to move towards the door. "What are you doing?" Catherine hissed as she rushed after him.

"I want to know what's behind that door. I don't know why. It's almost as if I'm being called to it. Besides which, I have a plan." He continued to stride boldly towards the door, and Catherine had to shake her head at her friend's sheer willpower.

"Sssstop. Nooo oone shall passss thisss door, lesst he be rightful Massster hear, by the command of the Apprenticccce." This spectre's voice was even more menacing than the undead beings usually sounded.

Fie, however, did not bat an eyelash. "You will allow me through. I am Fi… Fistandantilus, former master of this Tower." Catherine gasped as a strange majesty seemed to fill her friend's body, drawing him higher than his stature should have allowed.

The two spectres looked shell-shocked. The one without a mouth widened its eyes to express its shock, and its hands flew around frantically. The one that seemed to be only floating facial features, which had spoken before, seemed equally surprised. Its normally sibilant voice became stuttering. "Mmmmassster! Ffforgggive me! I had nnot reccognised yyyyou." Its voice quivered in anticipation of pain, and when Fie said nothing more, it continued. "Hhhere issss the key, Massster. Enter at your will." It seemed to be calming down a bit.

The second spectre produced a large key, which Fie took from its colder-than-death hand without flinching. Fie brushed past them and inserted the key into the lock. He turned it, and the locking mechanism groaned from years of disuse. Finally, however, the lock relented and the door moaned inwards. Fie stepped across the threshold.

Catherine did not want her friend to realize that she was terrified of the door for no good reason, so she walked towards it, hoping to appear as fearless as Fie had. When she reached the spectres, they barred her way. "Hey, move. I'm with him." Kit's show of bravado did nothing, and no matter how she dodged, the spectres always ended up in front of her.

"Only the Massster may enter. Ssstay here, daughter of the Apprenticcce." She sighed, hoping that Fie had heard this exchange.

Luckily for Kit, he had. "She may come, on my command. You will not bar her, and you will listen to her commands." Catherine wondered at the strange change that had overtaken her best friend, making him seem completely alien, even to her. Power, she decided, did not make for good friends. She brushed such thoughts aside, however, as she too walked through the door and into the laboratory.

Catherine jumped as the door clanged shut behind her. "Fie, I don't like this place. Lets get out of here. Dalamar must have had a reason for telling us not to come here." She shivered, though the room was warm.

"In a minute," Fie said absently as he examined the books. Though the teens did not know it, the room was exactly as Dalamar had left it over thirteen years prior. Many of the spellbooks had been removed, though one still sat on the table. A tall wooden Staff capped with a dragon's claw holding a gem rested in one corner, and there was a thick curtain over something in another corner. It was to the Staff that Fie moved to first.

"Don't Fie!" Catherine cried as he reached out to grab the Staff. "You don't know what kind of curses may have been placed on it!" She was too late, however.

Fie took hold of the Staff, and Catherine winced, expecting him to be blown to smithereens, or at least across the room. Nothing happened, however. Catherine was relieved, and Fie seemed mildly surprised. "It's warm!" He released the staff with a shrug and wandered over to the corner that was covered with a curtain.

Oblivious to Catherine's discomfort and worry, Fie pulled the cord of the curtain without hesitation. The luxurious purple material fell to the side soundlessly, revealing an intimidating looking, well, thing. The thing, for lack of a better word from either Fie or Evelynn, looked almost gate-like, with five dragon's heads surrounding a dark, glassy surface. Fie raised his eyebrows in surprise, and moved on to the center of the room, where a book sat.

The book seemed out of place with the rest of the room, and suddenly Fie realized that was because it was not covered in the dust that veiled the rest of the room. He decided not to say anything to Catherine; she was too nervous already. He gently opened the unmarked book, and saw that it seemed to be notes, written in clipped, angry sentences. He flipped through until he found a page that seemed to contain a spell. The page read:

"_Years of folly! I cannot believe that I was capable of such stupidity. A loophole: the Black mage does not need a cleric, only one who trusts him with his or her life, and will single-mindedly lay down that life for the mage, out of compassion, or ambition. My imbecile of a brother would have done. Too late for that now, though. After all of the effort I have gone through to temper her, the cleric will have to do._

"_The incantation to open the portal, at least, all sources agree upon:_

'_Black dragon. From darkness to darkness/My voice echoes in the emptiness._

'_White dragon. From this world to the next/My voice cries with life._

_Red dragon. From darkness to darkness I shout/Beneath my feet all is made firm._

_Blue dragon. Time that flows/Hold in your course._

_Green dragon. Because by fate even the gods are cast down/Weep ye all with me.'_

_Closing it? Possibly the Staff. Will think on that next."_

The entry ended there, and Fie stared at it. "Kit, I think this diary says how to open the thing over there. The author calls it a Portal." He walked over to it, as if in a dream.

"Fie, why are you doing this? Maybe we should get Dalamar. He'll know what all of this is, and what it means."

Fie was holding the book up so that he could clearly see the neat writing. "I must do this. I don't expect you to understand why, and I definitely don't expect Dalamar to understand. All I know is that something must be done, and that I'm the one to do it. It's almost as though I am being called. Now, are you with me, or against me?"

Catherine stared at her feet, embarrassed at being shown up to be weak in any way. "I'm with you, of course." She moved over to stand by her friend.

"Here, now, say these lines with me." Fie pointed to the incantation that the diary said would open the Portal. For a reason he could not explain, Fie hoped that Catherine was as dedicated to helping him as she seemed.

The teens spoke as one, not quite sure what was going to happen. "Black dragon. From darkness to darkness/My voice echoes in the emptiness.

'White dragon. From this world to the next/My voice cries with life.

Red dragon. From darkness to darkness I shout/Beneath my feet all is made firm.

Blue dragon. Time that flows/Hold in your course.

Green dragon. Because by fate even the gods are cast down/Weep ye all with me."

For a second, nothing happened. Then, all at once, the Portal sprung into unexpected life. The eyes of the dragons whirled alarmingly, coming to rest at their set colors. The dark surface of the Portal lightened until it showed a scape that was a light pinkish-red, as far as the eye could see.

With only a second's hesitation, Fie put his hand up to the Portal, and then through it. Soon, his body followed, and he pulled Catherine along as well. Fie looked around their new location curiously, noting the hole of the Portal at their back. He could see the laboratory faintly.

Suddenly, both teens' eyes were riveted in front of them as a huge five-headed dragon reared up in front of them. The teens fell prostrate in front of the majesty of the Queen of Darkness.

"Why do you invade my domain, weak humans?" The goddess' voice was beautiful and terrible, like a storm at sea.

Fie looked as though he were fighting some internal battle for a second, and then Catherine felt her own mind being invaded. She could do nothing as she felt herself looking up, and felt words flowing through her mouth; words that were not her own. "We come to retrieve what was lost here, My Lady. We seek only to remove what no longer belongs here, by the other gods' own decrees."

As the words that came from Catherine's mouth ran dry, both teens looked up to see a frail figure wrapped in black coming towards them from the pinkish gloom. Takhisis looked as shocked as a five-headed dragon could when one of her heads turned to see what the two young people were staring at.

"You!" She cried furiously, her voice even more horrible then previously. "You had been asleep!"

The figure, which drew nearer, smiled mockingly. "Had been, My Queen. For some reason, Paladine has seen fit to release me from my sleep and set me loose on the world once more. Did he forget to tell you?" The figure, which the young mages could now see was golden-tinted with white hair, sneered. "I trust that you will allow us to leave in peace. I do not think that you will wish to have me marring your plane of existence for longer than I must be." At this, he grabbed the teens and made a rush for the Portal.

The Dark Queen roared her fury at the impudence of mortals, but could do nothing as the man, shockingly spry, shot through the portal with the Catherine and Fie in tow. Once they were on the side of the laboratory, he shoved Fie across the room. "The Staff, boy. Quickly!" he rasped.

Shocked, Fie rushed to the Staff and thrust it into the strange magus' outstretched hand. The mage whispered a word of command, and cursed when it had no effect. Finally, he shoved the staff halfway through the Portal and used another word of power, this time calling up the Staff's magic rather than his own. This time, the spell took effect and the dragon's eyes whirled again, with furor this time. Finally, he took the Staff out of the Portal, just as the doorway closed and darkened.

The weak man began to collapse, and Fie rushed to catch him, as Catherine hurried to drag over one of the comfortable chairs. Without a word of thanks, the mage sank into the chair. "How are you alive?" he demanded immediately after he regained his breath.

"Wha…" Catherine began to speak, but Raistlin cut her off.

"Not you, him. Speak!" The mage's quiet voice was menacing and commanding.

"I…" Even the new, powerful Fie was at a loss for words. "Why would I not be?"

"I went back in time. You were destroyed. I took your soul into myself, as you would have taken mine. But now, you are here, stronger than ever, in a young, fit body. How!" At the end of this speech, the mage was howling in fury.

Suddenly, something within Fie clicked. "Oh, I'm not Fistandantilus. I am Fie, his descendant. I have been living on Earth until yesterday."

The mage seemed to calm down. "That would explain the sudden flux of power then. I am glad that the gods deigned to leave me my magic long enough to allow me to send through my notes, and call to you." His voice was bitter. "I see now that you would have never gotten to me, or even into this room, without my help." The man sneered, something he seemed to do a lot.

He suddenly noticed that the two teens were staring at him in astonishment and confusion. As if it would make everything clear, the man spoke once more in his strange, rasping manner. "I am Raistlin Majere, Master of the Past and Present."

**A/N:** Well, I do hope you enjoyed that. Please, please review. I am not afraid of constructive criticism. Let me know two things in this chapter and coming ones: first, I'm a bit worried about Fie (the younger) becoming a Male Sue. Please, don't let this happen! Second: this is my only full-length story that has Raistlin where I want to keep his character really close to what was laid out for him by Weis and Hickman, so let me know if he's getting at all OOC. About Raistlin – truth to be told, I'd forgotten about the pretty much unanimous vote to bring him back. So, for those of you who were wondering if he'd actually fit in, no worries: I have a good reason for him to be in the story. Now, to respond to my wonderful reviewers, who made sure that I did not give up on writing this chapter. Oh, and still feel free to guess about the prophesy. No one has been right yet!

Jade Limill: Well, you're one of the closest about the prophesy, but you're not quite on the right track. Remember: no reincarnations.

Spiritu Puro: Glad you like my story so much! As I said above, I do have a plan for Raistlin, so do not worry about that.

Pet: Hehe, I did enjoy writing Dalamar showing off, but Evelynn does have a part to play, or at least she will eventually, as will Raistlin. And for Dalamar's diplomacy and sensitivity, you must give credit where credit is due: he did not mention how Fie became a horrible, soul-sucking lich! Now that would have been a true lack of tact!

Guan: Thanks for your continuing encouragement and support. As to making this story longer than planned, I'm actually not sure where exactly it is going to end up, so it may very well get longer!

Casey: Glad you're enjoying, and I hope you haven't abandoned my story because of the wait!

Bored-Kender: OMG, I'm so sorry! I just remembered about your story! I had started to look at it, but I always leave a review at each chapter, and the day I first looked at it, reviews were down. Then, I promptly forgot. I will review by the end of the week, though! I promise.

Kenderling: Sorry for any confusion I may have caused. As you've probably figured out by now, this story takes place thirteen years after Raistlin was banished to the Abyss. It is an AU for Summer Flame, which would have taken place in another few years if I hadn't interfered. Anyway, I'm really glad you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you have had time to read this one.

Sroa Dwin: Well, your request was fulfilled! Sorry the update didn't come sooner.

GODESS of Naitari: Glad you liked this enough to yell at me to update!

Kilyn Bloodstone: I'm glad that you read this, and that you're enjoying. About Fie and Catherine, there is nothing going on between them. Remember, Catherine is physically developing (hormones included) at half the rate of a normal human. So, she hasn't even begun to like boys in general that way, much less Fie. I'm glad you are liking the twists I'm putting in. For my spelling and grammar, if you see some specific glaring mistake, please tell me what and where! Thanks, as always, for reviewing!


	10. There are Patterns I Must Follow

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that belongs to someone else. So DON'T SUE! 

**A/N:** I'm ba-ack. Sorry for the wait – I've been on vacation. Oh, and don't expect a formal A/N at the end. I've heard rumors about a ban on answering reviews, so my method will be a bit unorthodox. Never fear, I'll still answer y'all. I wouldn't have stolen a Black Robe's name if I weren't willing to attempt to bend the rules!

**There are Patterns I Must Follow, Just as I must Breathe Each Breath**

For a second, there was dead silence. Then, Fie started to laugh. "You? Dalamar's fearsome Shalafi? You couldn't hurt so much as a rabbit. I refuse to believe that you are the most powerful mage to have ever walked Krynn. Besides which, if you're so powerful, why did you need that staff to close the portal?" Fie's tone was mocking.

Catherine put her head in her hand at her friend's runaway mouth. Raistlin sneered. "Looks can be deceiving. If you were not prepared for my appearance, you may blame Dalamar, because your education in recent Krynnish history is obviously sadly lacking."

Catherine looked up in indignant support for the father she'd just found. "It's not Dalamar's fault! We only got here last night, and at that time, neither of us was up for a history lesson." She crossed her arms over her chest; a stern gesture, but one that looked utterly ridiculous on one of her stature.

To his credit, Raistlin did not laugh at the half-elf teen. "As you will." He sounded bored. "Now, you will take me to Dalamar." There was great authority in Raistlin's voice, the authority that comes from never having anyone question you.

Unfortunately for Raistlin, Fie was not so meek. "Why should we? I'm still not even convinced that you are that Raistlin character. And why do you need us to take you to Dalamar anyway? If you are Raistlin, you should be able to just poof yourself anywhere in the Tower like Dalamar does. You were the master of this place, weren't you?" Because of the dimness of the room, Fie did not see Raistlin's eyes flash dangerously.

"I will not 'poof myself', as you put it, for reasons that are my own. If you insist on not believing my identity, bring me to Dalamar anyway. If I am who I claim to be, he will recognize me. If not, he should have no trouble restraining me from wreaking havoc on the Tower. Unless, of course, he is even weaker than I remember." With that, Raistlin heaved himself out of his chair with the aid of the Staff, and started out the door.

With an apologetic shrug to Fie, Catherine trailed the mage out the door. Fie rolled his eyes at his friend's insatiable curiosity and followed her. "I think Dalamar is in his rooms changing." He heard Kit tell the stranger mage. "Fie knocked him out with a sleep spell, so we had to dump a bit of water on him." Fie winced, wondering what the mage's reaction would be.

Surprisingly, it was favorable. "I told him that he needed to strengthen his shields. Doubtless he deserved it." Suddenly, the mage turned his eerie golden gaze upon Fie. "Didn't you say that you only arrived here yesterday?"

Even Fie was cowed by the intense stare of the Master of the Past and Present. "Um… Yes. We're quick learners."

Catherine broke in, sure that Raistlin was going to start criticizing Dalamar again. Though she still did not feel completely comfortable around the elf, she had gained respect for him while he taught. She also felt a lot more loyalty to the elf then she did to the strange mage who had just appeared out of the portal.

"Dalamar taught us to speak magic properly in the morning, and so he decided to give us a treat by teaching us an actual spell this afternoon. He said that Fie's spell was the strongest sleep spell he'd ever felt!" For some reason she could not name, Raistlin rubbed her the wrong way, so she felt the need to brag about her magically talented friend.

"I never wasted my time on sleep spells when punishing Dalamar for his insolence." Raistlin's reply was acidic, and contained a veiled threat.

Fie snorted derisively, having seen no proof of this supposedly powerful mage's talents. He led the way down the steps, and Catherine took the rear. When they got to the landing where the laboratory was, Fie clapped for a spectre.

"Take us to Dalamar." Raistlin hid a smirk beneath a delicate golden hand. The spectres would never follow the commands of this imperious young man.

Much to Raistlin's shock, however, the spectre gave the ghostly equivalent of a bow. "Thisss way, Massster." Raistlin was dumbstruck. The spectres referred to no one but him as Master! He curbed his anger, however, at least for until he had spoken to Dalamar.

The spectre led them to Dalamar's room, where it bowed once more and promptly disappeared. Fie and Raistlin looked at each other, neither wanting to be the first being the dark elf would see when he opened the door. Catherine sighed at the men's idiocy and pushed past Fie teasingly to get to the door. "Dalamar?" She knocked quietly but sharply.

Dalamar pulled open the door fairly quickly. He was wearing a new robe, which was slightly rumpled as though he'd been lying on the bed and reading. "What is it, Catherine?" He was looking down at her to talk to her, but his eyes drifted upwards as though to ask for Nuitari's help with daughters. As his eyes glanced up, he saw Fie and, more shockingly, Raistlin.

"Sh…Sh… Shalafi!" Had he not been an elf, Dalamar would have fallen over his own feet as his body told him to bow while his eyes were gaping and his mind reeling. The elf blinked rapidly and pinched his arm where he thought Raistlin wouldn't see. "Wh… Wh… How…" The normally erudite-sounding elf was reduced to stuttering, stumbling speech with the reappearance of a man who was supposed to be dead, or at least long gone.

"Time has had no positive effect on your mental capacity I see, Apprentice. Stop gaping at me like that. I am quite alive." Raistlin's eerie eyes glinted in laughter.

"Bbut the laboratory door! How did you get out of the Abyss? How did the door get open?" The elf's demeanor was becoming like that of Evelynn – slightly hysterical at the reincarnation of a past that had been long buried.

"Fie here will have to answer you about the door. As to the Abyss, once Fie opened the Portal, it was fairly simple to escape. Takhisis had not realized that the other gods had awakened me, so I was able to catch her off guard. I was able to close the Portal with the Staff of Magius before she was able to follow me out."

Despite Dalamar's shock, he still possessed a sharp mind. "The Staff? Why use the Staff to close the Portal rather than a normal spell? And do you not have enough spells memorized that you couldn't risk her following you? If you have just been sleeping as some rumors say, your magic should be stronger than ever for the rest." The elf was suspicious.

A spasm of pain passed over the golden face before it too was hidden behind emotion's usual mask. "Apparently, though I am once more needed in the world, my magic is not. I suppose it is a bit of a compliment, that the gods themselves are afraid of what I might do when let loose on the world. Nevertheless, it is a compliment I would rather not have received. My magical power is gone, though the gods did not think to remove all magical influences on my body." Lightning seemed to flash over his eyes. "So, Apprentice, even if you are still the Conclave's pitiful puppet, you have no need of reporting my reappearence."

Dalamar was wise enough to do nothing but nod, though his hand strayed involuntarily to the wounds on his chest. "Your bedroom is still vacant, Shalafi. If you wish to, you may move in immediately." He decided that changing the subject would be the safest course of action at the moment.

Raistlin looked furious. "I may move in? Since when are you master of this Tower?" Dalamar made no move to state the obvious. Fie and Kit exchanged nervous glances as the two adults argued over their heads. "Of course I wish to move in, and you may freshen the sheets on my bed immediately. Stay out of my study, and I expect dinner at sunset, not a minute later."

Dalamar artfully contained a sigh. "Yes, Shalafi. As you wish." He disappeared to change the sheets as Raistlin spun on his heel to go to his rooms in a more mundane fashion.

"Oh, boy." He glanced back at Fie. "You may meet me in my study in an hour." With a swirl of soft black robes, he was gone.

Fie looked at Catherine. "He was saying that I have to, wasn't he?"

Catherine couldn't help laugh. "I think so. I, apparently, am not worthy of the time of day, much less his attention. Poor Dalamar! Why does Raistlin treat him so badly?" She shook her head in sympathy for her father.

"Well, if the stories about him are true, Raistlin could afford to be nasty to whomever he wanted. From what I've seen of Dalamar so far, he's a fairly tough character, but he seemed absolutely petrified of Raistlin. Maybe you can find out why."

"I've known the man as long as you have! Why should he tell me? I know I wouldn't tell people I've known for less than a day why I'm afraid of someone." Catherine was really not liking this commanding, imperious side of Fie.

"You _are_ his daughter. Look, if you try to find out why Raistlin does that to Dalamar, I'll try to get Raistlin to soften up a bit. He seemed to take a liking to me, you never know. Where is Dalamar anyway? It doesn't take so long to change sheets, and I wanted to ask him about Raistlin before my private session with him anyway."

As though on cue, Dalamar reappeared in his room, rubbing his head. He muttered to himself in Elvish, and Catherine was sure that it must have been something along the lines of "Why me?" He then noticed the teens standing outside of his door. "How?"

No other explanation of the question was needed. There was only one thing that Dalamar could have been asking. Fie looked him in the eye, having the grace to look slightly ashamed. "I told the spectres that I am Fistandantilus, and apparently, I'm enough like him that they believed me. They let me into the room, where I found Raistlin's diary. That had the incantation to open the Portal, and so I did. He told you the rest. It was no big deal."

For a second, Dalamar could just gape at Fie, and Catherine couldn't blame him. "No big deal? Raistlin had to prepare for years before he could open the Portal. It is not a spell that a novice mage should be able to perform. You snuck into a laboratory that was guarded by spectres under the orders to suck the life out of any intruders. You have resurrected a mage who was believed dead for over a decade, lack of powers notwithstanding. And all of this you have done within hours of learning the magical alphabet!" Dalamar took a deep breath to calm his raging emotions.

"Go." Dalamar had regained his composure. "As _he_'ll no doubt tell you, 'To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late. To be late is to be dead.'" He shooed Fie off.

Fie shrugged apologetically at Catherine and headed off. As he walked out of the doorway, he jarred the half-elf, and she winced. Fie was already too far down the hallway to notice, however, eager for his private meeting with Raistlin. Dalamar, on the other hand, did perceive Catherine's wince.

"Are your pains from yesterday bothering you again? Come into my room." Dalamar immediately waved her in and cleared the books off of his large, black-sheeted bed. Catherine was a bit hesitant, but obeyed.

"What injury is bothering you?" Dalamar's voice was matter-of-fact, and Catherine immediately clambered onto the bed on instinct, as though it was a doctor's table.

"My chest." Dalamar looked at her strangely. He had bandaged her wounds the night before, and his magical check of her body had registered nothing new on her chest.

"Well, lets see." He motioned for her to take her shirt off.

"Excuse me?" Catherine looked at him indignantly. "I know you're my father and all, but you have only known me for one day! Don't you just have some sort of ointment you can give me?"

"I'm sorry. My Shalafi was a skilled healer, and he taught to always look at the problem before proscribing a cure for it. And, I did bandage your other wounds while you were unconscious. Besides which, development-wise, you are at the equivalent age of a seven-year human. Now, do you want me to help you, or not?"

He turned to rummage through the closet for assorted ointments and bandages. When Dalamar turned around again, Catherine's shirt was off, clutched at the top of her chest in a ball.

"Come on. Let's see the problem." Dalamar's voice was stern, but kind.

Catherine reluctantly pulled the shirt away. It was evident from the shirt, which was half-inside out, that something had scabbed over that morning and the shirt had gotten caught in the scabs. When Catherine had taken the shirt off, it ripped the scabs open once more. She gently pulled it away from the trouble site, and Dalamar gasped.

Catherine looked at him angrily. "You were the one who asked to see. You should've said if you can't handle a bit of blood. Though if you can't and you're an evil mage that's kind of…"

Dalamar cut her off. "That's not the problem." He fiddled with a clasp at the neck of his ebon robes. When it came open, he pulled the neckline open to reveal his own pale, well-muscled chest. Catherine stared unabashedly at the five bleeding finger-marks that mirrored the ones on her own chest. "Now you see why I was a bit surprised."

Catherine could only nod as Dalamar fastened his robe again. Mine, unlike yours I'm sure, are magical in origin, so they can never heal. Yours, however, I'm sure will depart leaving no more than scars with the proper treatment." He conjured a wet cloth and gently wiped away the fresh blood. Patting the wounds dry with another cloth, Dalamar took a small jar of salve and smeared it on the wounds.

"How? How were they caused?" Catherine's eyes were as round as saucers as she submitted to Dalamar's treatment.

"Raistlin." Dalamar's answer was simple, yet eloquent. He began to wind a soft bandage around his daughter's chest, taking care not to smear any of the salve. "What about you? Obviously, they cannot have been created through magic, yet they seem quite persistent."

"Arash." Catherine spit the name out like a curse.

Dalamar's eyes grew cold. "I see." He tried to decide whether or not to tell his daughter about his captive.

The decision was taken out of his hands, however. "How do you know who Arash is? I'd never used his name before." Catherine was suspicious. Much as she wanted to, she couldn't yet bring herself to completely trust the man who claimed to be her father. She was worried that he might've used some sort of magic to probe into her mind.

"Don't worry, I did not pull it from your mind." Dalamar gave a slight half-smile. In her emotions, his daughter was much more her mother's than his. He could see her thoughts as clearly as though he really was using a mind-probing spell. "I pulled him through the Portal as well. I thought that he might be useful in the future." He left it at that, and hoped that Catherine would leave the subject alone.

He had underestimated his daughter's capacity for curiosity, however. "Where is he?" Though she'd never admit it to anyone, Kit was more than a little afraid of her nemesis, and didn't really want to run into him.

Once more, Dalamar's sharp Elven eyes were able to read the emotions on her face. "Don't worry, he's securely locked up."

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Suddenly and very randomly, Tasselhoff ran into the room. As Dalamar and Kit stood gaping, the kender spoke, his voice shrill with excitement. "Hi Dalamar! Long time no see! Is this your daughter? She looks a lot like you. She's Kit's daughter, isn't she? I must say, I do miss Kit. She was sometimes rather sharp with me, but she was so interesting! Very violent though. Is your daughter very…"

Tas' babbling was cut off by Dalamar, who spoke while removing a spoon that 'fell' into the kender's pouch. "Why are you here, Kender, and how did you come?"

"Oh, that!" Tas seemed to nearly leap out of his skin in excitement. "I nearly forgot, I was so happy to see you. I was sent on a very Important Mission." It was obvious from his tone that he was capitalizing Stressed Words, as was his wont. "The Great Mage-Writer and creator of this fic, Dally, sent me. She gave me this to deliver." He pointed at one of his multitudinous pouches. "Isn't it exciting? An Important Quest, all for me!"

"Be quiet, kender." Dalamar's voice was harsh. He'd had face-to-face dealings with Dally before, and was suitably wary. He snatched the pouch from Tasselhoff, retrieving one of his spell component pouches as well. He opened the pouch and found several letters. He pulled the first one out, addressed to him. He read aloud.

"Dear Dalamar,

Please forgive this interruption in the story, but the reviewers needed answers to their reviews, and as this is the end of the chapter, I felt that it was an appropriate place to hide them. I'd be very grateful if you wouldn't mind reading the letters aloud so that the reviewers may be thanked.

Yours in love, lust, and adoration,

Dally"

Dalamar closed the letter with a sigh at the closing. He would not, however, risk the authoress' fury by disobeying. Bleeding handprints were nothing compared to the pain and humiliation a vengeful keyboard could bring! He opened the first response.

"Casey,

As always, apologies for the long wait. I'm glad you found the chapter up to par, and I hope that this next one has also pleased. Thanks for taking the time to review!

Dally"

Catherine blinked in shock. "What is all of this?"

Dalamar hurriedly shushed her. "I'll explain later. I must keep reading so that She doesn't get mad."

"Kilyn,

Sorry about any proofreading mistakes I may have made. I have such trouble catching my own mistakes, and I sometimes forget that Word doesn't always do it for me! I'm glad you're enjoying the story, though. I will review your story ASAP – as I said, I just got home from vacation.

Dally"

"The Worm that Lives in Books,

Thank you very much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you enjoyed my story, and think highly of it. I try with Dalamar, though sometimes I feel that my "rose-tinted glasses" make him too nice, so I'm happy that you feel I've been doing a good job. I hope that you'll continue to read and review.

Dally"

"Dear Valgoruth,

I am so glad you e-mailed me the other day, or I would still have no idea who I knew reviewed this! As I told you, this is not a self-insertion. Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll continue. (By the way, you are allowed to review every chapter you've read, in case you've made it farther than the first chapter!)

Your friend,

Dally"

Dalamar made sure that there were no further letters in the pouch, and he handed it roughly back to Tas. "Well, thank you for delivering those letters, though in the future, you may inform Authoress Dally that I would prefer a different messenger. Hopefully one who does not insist on trying to take all of my belongings as he leaves." Dalamar concluded dryly as he emptied Tas' pouches of the numerous interesting objects that accumulated there while he had been reading the letters.

Suddenly, a voice chimed in out of thin air. "Oh, but I like Tasselhoff! Don't worry, he will be my messenger in the future. Remember to review!" This last comment was directed at her beloved readers. Tas disappeared as Dalamar fumed at the Authoress who insisted on putting more restraints on his life as the fanfiction site put more on hers.


	11. Like A Rat in A Maze

**Disclaimer:** I own it all, along with the word "the," so you owe me a dollar every time you put that word into print! Just kidding, on all counts! One more thing, not a joke: please excuse Arash's foul mouth. Everyone he insults over the course of the next few chapters are his feelings, not mine. So please, no one get offended by slang, curses, stereotypes, and a major lack of political correctness. 

**A/N:** Well, the rumor about responses seems to have died down, so there will be no more random kender inserts to confuse you in this chapter. Also, I've gotten a beta reader, (Shout out to Valgoruth! Italian food forever!) so any complaints about spelling and grammar are now not my fault.

**Like a Rat in a Maze, the Path Before Me Lies**

Arash sat in solitude, the plate of food by his chair ignored. He was absolutely seething from that morning's humiliation. He was determined not to talk the next time, though how he would manage that, he was not quite sure. The next time, he would not act as an embarrassment to his father.

Suddenly, Arash's reverie was broken by a faint squishing sound. He looked at the door, artfully replacing a look of nervousness with one of scorn. The noise, however, was not emanating from the door. Realizing that, Arash looked around the room, trying to find where the attacker might be coming from. He stood, not even consciously realizing that that meant the spectres had left with Dalamar.

Finally, after spinning in a circle to survey the room twice, Arash noticed something grey, or maybe not grey, squeezing through one of the walls. At first, Arash thought that it might be some magical lackey of Dalamar's. When it finished coming into the room, however, it ended up not as a being or a face, but as a stone. The predominant color was grey, though other colors flashed through it irregularly in the even light that shone from the ceiling. It was a big stone, or perhaps a small one. It was round, but every other shape imaginable at the same time. It was smooth, but also bumpy, slimy, sandpaper-rough, and more, all at once.

For a minute, all Arash could do was stare at it in entranced shock as it changed and undulated and fluxed. Then, an idea came into his brain, unbidden. _Break it_. Arash wasn't sure why he felt so compelled, so he tried to ignore the thought. _Break it,_ came the insidious command. _Just use the chair and break it_. Arash suddenly wondered what would be so bad about breaking the stone. After all, he was already in a strange world, and had been humiliated by a fag in a dress. What more could go wrong?

_Break it._ This time, he did not try to fight the seductive command. The stone seemed to move nearer the floor, though it was hard to tell whether it was actually moving or simply following its mercurial nature. Arash picked up the heavy, uncomfortable wooden chair and brought it smashing down onto the stone. There was an immense explosion, and Arash knew no more.

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Fie wandered in the direction he thought the study might be, lost in thought. He was having a bit of trouble coming to terms with the colossal amount of strength he had just inherited. He was slightly intimidated, to be sure. However, most of his thoughts were embarrassingly power-hungry. On Earth, he had always strove to be the best at anything he applied himself to, however, he never thought of himself as power-hungry.

Once in a while at home, the shameful thought that because of his intellect he was better than normal humans, would come through. He had always guiltily shoved that thought away before it could really take root, but here was concrete evidence that he was, in part, correct. Even Dalamar, an obviously powerful mage, had been shoved callously aside in favor of him, Fie, by someone reputed to be the most powerful mage to ever walk the face of Krynn. Now, Fie had been asked to go to Raistlin's study, a place that Dalamar had been instantly forbidden from. To say that the feeling of such respect was intoxicating would be an understatement.

As he let his mind wander these dark trails, Fie allowed his feet free reign among the dark passageways of the Tower. Obviously, his subconscious knew where he was going, even if Fie himself did not, because he soon arrived in front of Raistlin's study. The previously open door was closed. He knocked hesitantly.

At a reedy "Enter," from Raistlin, Fie hesitantly opened the door, which turned out not to be locked. Raistlin was sitting at the desk, reading a spell book with badly concealed longing. His face hardened once Fie had closed the door behind himself. "I suppose you know why you're here?"

The soft, compelling voice startled Fie slightly after his silent contemplations. He jumped despite himself. "Not exactly, Sir." Despite the euphoria of power, or perhaps because of it, Fie decided that understated courtesy would be best with the former mage, rather than the defiance he had shown before.

Raistlin sighed; he'd obviously hoped that this would be one apprentice he wouldn't have to spell things out for. "You have come here because, despite my current lack of power, I can teach you far more than anyone save the gods themselves could. I can read it in your eyes that you crave this power as I once did, as I still do. I can show you this power, if you want it."

Fie's heart was in his throat. Though he hadn't admitted it out loud, this was exactly what he'd hoped, and feared, that Raistlin would offer. Fie was vaguely worried about corruption that the power might bring, but that timid part of his mind was fairly quickly overridden by the seduction of magic.

"I would be honored to study under you, Master Rai…"

Fie's sentence was violently cut off when an earth-shaking explosion rocked the Tower. A piece of the study, the one that met the Tower's outer wall, fell away. Miraculously, only the lower wall and the books kept there plunged towards the dread Shoikan Grove. Above the original break, the wall stayed intact, the books unmoved. Fie gaped as part of the wall supported itself over thin air.

Raistlin's eyes unfocused as he unsuccessfully tried to transport himself to wherever his old apprentice happened to be. At the renewed reminder of the loss of even commonplace magic, Raistlin let out a string of curses under his breath again. Eyes blazing, Raistlin stormed out of the room, Fie following closely behind.

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After Catherine was bandaged up, Dalamar had expected her to leave and do whatever it was that teenaged half-elves did in their spare time. However, Catherine just watched silently as he pulled out his spell book and sat down again to study. After a few minutes of this dumb contemplation, Dalamar sighed.

"What?" His question was terse and annoyed. "Do you want some dolls or something?"

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Can I borrow a spellbook? Or maybe a book on history? Or, here's a novel idea, maybe you could teach me yourself rather than just ignoring me!" She glared at him.

"Fine," Dalamar sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get rid of her anyway. He'd never thought that a daughter would be so much trouble. Pushing aside a guilty thought about being glad he hadn't known about her before, Dalamar asked, "What do you want to know?"

"Well," Catherine was slightly surprised. She hadn't expected him to actually humor her! "I guess tell me whatever I need to know about this world. Because whether you agree to let me stay here or not, I am _not_ going back to the orphanage!"

"I… I suppose some recent history would be good then, or perhaps I can teach you about the gods." Dalamar was so taken off guard by this impassioned speech that he began to babble slightly. Getting a hold of himself, he continued, and Catherine plopped down cross-legged onto the floor. "Yes. I will tell you about the gods. The twenty one gods of our pantheon are the children of Chaos, a being as old as…"

The world suddenly exploded around them. The wall nearest the door blew inwards, and a piece of shrapnel hit Dalamar on the head. Kit bit her lip to hold back a scream as large chunks of the wall flew towards the window. She threw herself from the floor onto the bed, rolled across, and fell to the other side where she hoped she'd be partially shielded. An enormous chunk of stone flew over her head and hit the window, which shattered into hundreds of pieces. Finally, the explosion died down.

Catherine peered up cautiously to see that nothing else would be hurtling across the room, and when she deemed it safe, she headed over towards the shelf with the bandages and unguents. After much struggling to reach them, Kit grabbed the bandages and the salve that Dalamar had put on her burns. She hurried over to stop the bleeding on his forehead.

As Catherine was mopping up the blood, Raistlin swept into the room, closely followed by Fie. "What happened?" Raistlin demanded, his voice barely above a whisper, but even more menacing than a yell would have been.

"How should I know?" Catherine fumed as Fie joined her on the floor to clean up the stricken elf. "Dalamar was telling me about the gods, and then the next thing we know, the wall explodes! Ouch!" Fie had noticed a piece of glass from the window in Kit's arm and pulled it out sharply.

"Then who…" Fie muttered, as he helped to wrap a linen bandage around Dalamar's head. He clapped sharply for a spectre and beckoned for some smelling salts. Raistlin looked slightly abashed as once more, the spectre hurried to do the young man's bidding.

Suddenly, Catherine stopped mid-motion. "Arash," she breathed. "But how?" She mused, getting up slowly and walking around the room with a dazed expression.

"Arash? What does he have to do with anything?" Fie was puzzled. "Are you sure that you didn't get hit on the head as well?" He looked at his friend incredulously.

"No." Catherine glared at Fie. "Dalamar had just been telling me that he took Arash here for some reason as well, and that he was locked up safely. What if he figured out how to get out?"

Fie accepted the smelling salts from the spectre that hovered over Dalamar. "Arash was here? Why would Dalamar care about him?" He waved the terrible smelling spices under Dalamar's nose energetically.

Dalamar sat up violently, knocking the teenaged boy aside with his waving arms. "What happened? _Shalafi!_" The last word was a scream. Obviously, Dalamar had a slight lapse in memory. "Oh." He began to remember the events of the past few hours. "Why is the wall gone?"

Fie joined Raistlin as he smirked at Dalamar's disorientation. "We were going to ask you that." Raistlin's voice suddenly turned caustic. "Perhaps you'd care to explain why the western half of this floor, and parts of the floors immediately above and below are completely destroyed?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I told you, already, we don't know!" Catherine cut in, buying a minute of time for the disoriented elf to recover. She then turned to Dalamar. "Dalamar, where were you keeping Arash?"

Comprehension suddenly dawned in his eyes. "Across the hall," he said wonderingly. "I don't understand how he could have gotten out." Dalamar picked himself up off of the floor. "It just doesn't make sense!"

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Suddenly, there was light in the world once more. Arash blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to adjust to the new light. "Huh?" He said dazedly. He looked around at the bare plain surrounding him. "Where am I?" The teen asked rhetorically, not really expecting an answer.

"The place that the puny mortals call the 'Plains of Dust.'" A terrible voice boomed. "It is the best place on this measly world for me to explain what is needed."

Arash blinked slowly, not trusting his eyes. "Fuck." That about summed up Chaos, whose corporeal form was of a huge giant made of what seemed to be molten rock. His features were indistinct, since they kept changing. The only things that remained constant in his face were his eyes, lidless holes that led to infinity.

"You are to be my general among the worms. You will lead my semi-human troops against the horde of mortals." Chaos's voice boomed discordantly in Arash's ears.

"Your general? Woah, dude, what the hell is wrong with you? Who are you even?" Arash was still trying to take all of it in.

"I? I am Chaos. I created this plane, and will now destroy it. However, my children trapped me in that infernal stone for years, so my power is much reduced. That is where you come in."

**A/N:** Well, hope you enjoyed that. The next chapter should be longer. And, you're all in luck – I'm on a writing kick for this story, so it shouldn't be too long before the next chapter's posted. Though I must warn you, school does bring new time constraints. Woah, I just checked my stats, and I saw that I have 65 reviews, compared to 301 hits! Warning: my bad boy muses will track down anyone who doesn't take the time to press the little blue-ish button and tell me what you think!

Kilyn Bloodstone: Glad you enjoyed. Sorry for the fright about Tas, but I really was not sure that the rumor about responses was just that, a rumor, so I decided to play it safe!

Jade Limill: No prob about disappearing for a while. As long as you came back! I'm glad you liked the chapter. The part about Dalamar being afraid of me was a random reference to a line in ESGAME where he mentioned that getting on my bad side meant a new, very Sue-infested chapter in Tale of Two Worlds. (Not to mention the April Fool's episode…) So, there (likely) will be nothing more on that in this story, though if everyone protests, I may rethink that.

Valgoruth: Glad you're enjoying. Hey, you didn't catch any spelling mistakes… Hope that meant that I didn't make any!

Casey: Thanks for the glowing review, and I hope to always live up to your expectations!

Fetch-Thranduilion: Thanks for starting to read! Thanks for the god reference. I was pretty sure it was Zivilyn, but I wanted to make sure. That is pretty important later on. (Hint hint…) And thank you SO much for saying that Raistlin was in character. He is, for me as well, by far the hardest to keep in character. As to the review thing, I have come to the conclusion that it was a really nasty joke someone played, luckily! Glad you like Kit and Fie better than Usha and Palin. Me too! (I'm still mad about Palin inheriting the staff…) And, as I'm sure this chapter indicated, Arash's role is going to be a very far cry from that of Steel!


	12. And the Pattern Never Alters

**Disclaimer:** As I do not yet work for any of the various people involved in making DL a reality, I cannot yet claim ownership to anything you recognize from their work.

**A/N:** Okay, many announcements. First, I'd like to apologize for the forever wait. Time, inclination and inspiration have had trouble coming together for me. Add to that my muses… (Them: "Ready to write today?" Me: "As ever. Go ahead." Them: "Oh, by the way, some time before the story ends, X has to die." Me: "WHAT! WHY?" Them: "For the sequel." Me: "So, what happens in the sequel?" Them: "Can't tell you!" And so on…) Secondly, I would like to dedicate a couple of paragraphs in the middle of this to some very perverted musicians I had the pleasure of knowing. Star Wars will never be clean again. Next, I need to thank my beta Valgoruth, who helped the many segments I wrote this in form a coherent whole. I also want to thank my reviewers. Though it was a long time coming, never think that your support did nothing. You help me to write when times seem darkest. Lastly – we finally reach the beginning of the Chaos War in this chapter. Kindly remember, this is an alternate universe, so many things are different. I know I changed a lot – tough! Okay, now that that bloody long authors note is done, I present Chapter 12, a.k.a. the "Oh, So That's Why She's Been Using this Song For Chapter Titles Chapter."

**And the Pattern Never Alters, Until the Rat Dies**

Catherine and Fie exchanged frightened glances as their elders paced through the room restlessly. Nervous of anything that could unnerve two evil mages, they quietly excused themselves from the room. Neither Dalamar nor Raistlin seemed to notice their sudden absence. The teens wandered aimlessly and in silence for a minute, until they arrived at Catherine's room. As they entered, Catherine wondered if it was the Tower who took them to the appropriate places rather than their own subconscious sense of direction.

Still slightly shocked about the explosion, Kit and Fie sat down on the end of the large, black-sheeted bed. For another minute, neither said anything, each immersed in private musings. Finally, Fie broke the silence. "Do you think that the explosion had anything to do with you?"

Catherine looked at her friend as though he had grown a second head. "With me? No, I told you already, I was just sitting there. It was Arash who somehow caused the explosion."

Fie shook his head in frustration. "That isn't what I'd meant. I didn't mean to imply that I thought you caused it directly. I was just thinking about that prophesy that Dalamar told us about. What was it again?"

Catherine thought for a minute. " 'A child of two worlds, a child of one. A child of two faiths, a child of none. The world is torn, as is the soul. One shall shatter, the other be made whole.' It was phrased oddly, but since it was about me supposedly, I remember it. Why?"

"I was just thinking," Fie said slowly, "That if it is about you, that means you're the nexus in a turning point of this world's history. Your being brought here will have set a chain of events in motion, a chain that can only have one of two outcomes; either the world will be destroyed, or you will."

Catherine paled. "I… I guess I hadn't thought about it that way. Do you think that the prophesy will dictate all of my actions, so that I have no free will?" Even Kit herself would admit it: she was scared. Nothing terrified her more than the thought that she was a puppet, rushing towards the ominous edge of a precipice.

Fie answered slowly, sensing her fear. "I do not think so. Otherwise, why would there be two branches to the prophesy?"

Kit was not comforted. "So now I have two choices. That still isn't much like free will. And will I even get to choose? How could anyone choose?" She was considerably upset, with just cause.

"I don't think that there are only two choices," Fie mused. "Only two outcomes. And no, I doubt that you will be able to know which outcome you pick as you are experiencing whatever is going to happen." He gave her a weak smile, showing that he too was disturbed by the thought of prophesy manipulating people's lives.

"This can't end well." Catherine sighed. "In all of the books I've read concerning prophesy, it never ends well. And the prophesy seems much too clear cut to offer any surprise twists." She sat for another second more, and then rose, pacing the room restlessly.

Soon, Fie joined her in pacing, and before they knew it, they were walking out the door. "Where are we go--?" Catherine shook her head. "I really don't like this place sometimes." They did not speak again until they reached the dining hall.

When they reached the medium sized room, they found that Evelynn, as well as the mages, were already there. The three sat around a small table, Raistlin at the head. The teens took the two places set for them, and hesitantly put salad and bread on their plates. Catherine picked up the fork, but only used it to move her food around her plate. Fie didn't fiddle, though he too stared at his plate in silence. In fact, Evelynn was the only one eating, which she was doing with surprising gusto for an ancient elf.

"What is wrong with the lot of you? No wonder you're all so skinny; you don't eat." All four of the others took up their forks, each remembering some awesome personage commanding them to eat. As they chewed, they all looked at each other sheepishly. Raistlin especially looked embarrassed at having been cowed into eating by a demented, half-fossilized elf. He looked meaningfully at Dalamar, who rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

Evelynn got up, and started walking towards the door, plate in hand. Catherine realized that Dalamar must have set the odd magic of the Tower into motion, and it was calling her away. Frankly, Kit was glad. As much as she liked the formidable elderly lady, she and Fie needed to talk to the mages alone.

Fie broke the uncomfortable silence. "Why do we have so much power?" He was blunt, and Catherine sensed that had the two mages been anyone else, they would've squirmed. As it was, their normally shielded faces closed in even more.

"I'm supposing you mean why do you, being untutored and having diluted blood, have more power than my apprentice, and likely more power than I used to." Raistlin's voice was tart. "Of course, I can't be sure, but I do have a hypothesis."

Catherine wasn't sure, but she could've sworn she heard Dalamar mutter "As always," under his breath. When she looked, he looked as innocent as a dark elven mage ever could, though.

"It is the common theory, or at least it had been, that magic travels through the veins as blood does." Raistlin obviously hadn't heard Dalamar, if he'd indeed said anything. "It is believed that magic is the power of the gods, being channeled through humans. For the most part, the gods know when a mage has reached his or her limit; hence the different ability levels of mages, and even of clerics. Of course, there are always mortal mistakes made, when a mage overreaches his or her power. And, the ones who cannot judge their own abilities are weeded out in the Test, when the gods allow as much power as the mage is willing to accept to flow.

"The most recent belief, when I was last present on this plane, was that those with the affinity for magic were simply those with veins stronger than those of the average mortal; veins strong enough to hold god-power. The stronger the mage is, the stronger their veins are. Of course, the body must fight the destruction of its own organs, so once a mage has reached his or her limit, he or she will usually faint. Over time, mages usually lose strength because their veins have been weakened by the constant flow of magic. Usually, the elderly make up with wisdom what they have lost in stamina.

"How this connects to you, of course, is that I have postulated that the mortals of your world have innately stronger veins than the ones here. I believe that the various god magics that course through the bodies of even those who are not clerics or mages has weakened our veins through time. This has not happened on your world, and therefore you are able to channel more magic than the average Krynnish citizen. The fact that there is less natural magic on your plane of existence would explain why Catherine is so strong. I would not be surprised if her power decreases with time, because she has simply built up a resistance rather than having inherited one." Kit snorted indignantly, but did not otherwise interrupt.

"Naturally, every random human plucked off of your world would not be able to practice magic. It does take a strong will and a flexible set of beliefs. Neither of you would be able to cast so much as a sleep spell if you had the concrete belief that magic was complete fallacy. And, I am sure that there is some genetic factor that has yet to be discovered by modern magic. Therefore, my theory is that because of your naturally stronger veins, some sort of inheritance from Fistandantilus for Fie and Dalamar for Catherine, and your willingness to accept the existence of magic makes you the ideal mages, and more powerful than any that could have ever existed on Krynn." Finished with his technical explanation, Raistlin started to cough violently, and he grabbed at his previously untouched mug of tea.

For a second, Kit and Fie just stared at the golden, former-mage with blank looks as the information sank in. Then, first Kit and then Fie got looks of supreme enlightenment on their faces. Dalamar, who was able to follow Raistlin's convoluted speech from the first, recognized the expression as the same one that had so many times graced his own face when he decoded Raistlin's lectures in his days as an apprentice.

Several months later, the young humans had settled into a pattern at the Tower. For the most part, Fie was over his homesickness, and Catherine had never had any regrets about leaving Earth. Both of the children, Fie especially, were tearing through their lessons in magic with unprecedented speed and ability. Raistlin had already given Fie some of the spellbooks from his youth, and it was common knowledge in the Tower that Fie would be the one to eventually inherit Fistandantilus' books. Despite Catherine's feeling that she would end up being a servant of Lunitari after her test, both teens wore black robes, in recognition of their sponsor. Usually, it was only white robes who were sponsors, but novices bound to mages of other alliances were not unheard of.

Dalamar would gladly have sacrificed his burdens for the academic ones of the children, however. After living alone for the majority of the years after Raistlin had left the Tower, he was having trouble adjusting to having people around, and especially to having his Shalafi back. The only years that had not been spent in solitary study and contemplation had been with an apprentice, and being the Shalafi was quite different than having to bow to one.

Taken as a whole, however, his discomfort at the existence of others in the Tower was the least of his worries. His feelings about said other people were much more disturbing. Dalamar found that he was growing very fond of his daughter, and was not quite sure how to deal with that emotion. Parental love was never a feeling he'd come in contact with at any point in his life. And then, of course, there was always the problem of breaking the news to Jenna. Despite having had several months to mull it over, Dalamar had still not informed her. For that matter, he'd never told Catherine that he had a lover. Though he could think of no distinct reason why not, he was not too sure that either woman's reaction would be positive.

Dalamar and Jenna had been lovers for two years, but they both had their secrets. His having a daughter was one that Dalamar wished to keep for himself. He also did not want to lose Catherine's regard, and he was pretty sure that in her old world, people did not usually have long-term sexual relationships unless they meant to marry.

Dalamar was also worried about the disappearance of the boy, Arash. He had told the Conclave at Wayreth that they needed to be alert and ready, but they did not believe that the disappearance of a boy in a magical Tower could mean anything. Only two things gave Dalamar slight comfort. One fact that Dalamar took solace in was the fact that Palanthas had a standing army of those fool Solamnics, and had since the wars a decade before. The other was that the blathering white robed ancient, Par-Salian, had resigned from the Conclave shortly after Dalamar brought the teens from Earth. He did not deny that his display of anger before that could have been a factor in Par-Salian's decision.

Now, Jenna's father Justarius ruled the Conclave. While the lame human was not as cautious as Dalamar might have liked, he also wasn't as much of a pacifist as Solinari's geezer. However, Justarius still insisted on ignoring all of Dalamar's warnings.

Suddenly, Dalamar's early-morning contemplation in front of the window in his room was broken by noise from the city below. His far-seeing eyes turned from the oblivion of the sky to the populous so many feet down. For an instant, he had a feeling of vertigo and saw the spiked gate rushing up towards him, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. As Dalamar focused his gaze on Palanthas, his heart leapt into his throat once more, but for a very different reason.

Bertrem hurried into his master's study, barely pausing after he knocked.

"Yes, Bertrem?" Astinus' voice was as calm as ever, as though he didn't hear the screams of the populous outside.

"Sir, the city…" The pudgy Aesthetic was panting from exhaustion and terror. "Attacking… Monsters…" It was a sign of his agitation that he didn't wait for permission before collapsing into one of the hard chairs in front of the historian's desk.

Astinus' pen continued its path across the great book, and Astinus' face lost none of its calm expression. "I know. The forces of Chaos are attacking the city. I suggest you begin moving the books into the cellar before they reach the Library."

"But, Sir, shouldn't you leave here as well?" Bertrem was beginning to catch his breath again, but he was far from calm.

"How many times must I tell you?" The pen continued to scratch, though Astinus' voice grew annoyed. "I was the first, I will be the last. Unless the world is coming to an end, I will be fine. My books, however, may not be." Bertrem recognized his dismissal and hurried from the room, screaming orders at the other fleeing Aesthetics.

Dalamar met the other inhabitants of the Tower of Palanthas in the entrance hall, his arms full of magical paraphernalia. Of all of them, Raistlin looked the most irate at having been summoned with the compulsion to take as much as he could carry. Everyone began speaking at once, demanding to know why they had been wrested from their beds at such an early hour in the morning.

"Quiet!" Dalamar's sharp tone alone revealed his agitation. "Palanthas is being attacked. Catherine, Fie and I must leave at once. If nothing else, the Library must be protected at all costs. First, all of us will stop at Jenna's and drop off this equipment. The city will need all of the help it can get."

"Why? There are Knights guarding the perimeter." Raistlin's tone was as cynical as ever. "They would not welcome magical assistance."

"If my eyes have seen truly, they will welcome any assistance they can get. The creatures attacking… They seem mockeries of true life. I do not know what they are, nor do I wish to. If my estimation is correct, Palanthas will fall within two days. After that, only the Scribe may know the intentions of the unknown force." Without further ado, Dalamar herded the teens and Evelynn close, making sure they were all touching someone else so that they would be included in his transportation ring's magic. As Dalamar said the word that unlocked the magic within the small ring, Raistlin placed one thin hand on Fie's shoulder.

When they arrived at their destination, all but Raistlin and Dalamar felt nauseous and off-balance. As Catherine's head stopped spinning, she looked around in wonder. The room they had arrived in was a spacious bedroom, made small by their five-person entourage. The only rooms Kit had seen previously in Krynn were the distinctly male ones in the Tower, but this one was definitely female. Tasteful curtains graced the windows, hiding the chaos outside. In the middle of the room was a sumptuous canopy bed, flanked by a nightstand covered with arcane objects. The dresser also displayed many objects that Kit had never seen, much less knew the purpose of.

Within seconds, a red-robed mage stormed into the room. She was beautiful in her fury, though when calm she'd likely only pass as 'elegant'. "Lord Dalamar." Jenna's voice was icy, and her formality let Dalamar know what she felt about the sudden intrusion. "What are you doing here?" Her angry face suddenly transformed into a mask of shocked horror as she caught sight of the Master of the Past and Present.

"Jenna, I'm sorry to intrude." Dalamar's voice was soothing despite his tightly wound nerves. "May I introduce Lady Evelynn Windglimmer." He gave the wizened elf the honor of being introduced first.

Recovering her composure somewhat, Jenna made a slight motion somewhere between a curtsy and a bow. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, my Lady."

"My Shalafi, the Archmagus Raistlin Majere." There was no need for Dalamar to point out which of their motley crew was the famed mage. He also felt no need to allow Jenna to know that Raistlin was powerless. "His apprentice Fie Dante, and my…" Dalamar paused, unsure of how to introduce Kitiara's daughter. "This is Catherine." Dalamar winced as Catherine's name rang hollowly without a surname.

Jenna simply raised an eyebrow as she waited for her lover to explain himself. "Something is attacking the city." The red-robed mage's gaze clearly told the assembled group what she thought about stating such an obvious truth.

"I need to inform the Conclave. The children are in training. Protect them while I'm gone? The Library needs to be defended." Only Dalamar's eyes betrayed how much he cared about the young people, and that only to the people who really knew him. Jenna sighed and rolled her eyes, but nodded her assent. Dalamar pulled another ring out of one of his pouches and activated its magic before another word could be said.

"Lady Windglimmer, would you like to go back to the Tower?" Jenna had no idea why Dalamar would have had a decrepit elven Lady in his care, but she did not really care, and definitely did not want to have to take care of her along with two pubescent tots. And from the stories she'd heard of his reign in times past, she knew that Raistlin would look out for himself alone. And oh yes, that reminded her, why was Raistlin back among the living, and why had Dalamar not told her? She was not even going to approach the subject of the teens, much less why the scrawny girl had an uncanny resemblance to Dalamar himself. Jenna's frown of frustration at her lover's lack of trust deepened when she saw the old elf's face harden with determination.

"I will not go back and hide in that Tower like an invalid! I have lived too long a life to be afraid. I have been away from my home for most of that life. Do not deny me the opportunity to see my world before I die." Evelynn glared at the young mage, daring her to argue.

Jenna was too exasperated by the circumstances to care overly much. Shaking her head, she took a transportation ring of her own from the dresser. "Let's go." Fortunately for Raistlin's sake, he was able to grab onto Fie without Jenna noticing, and no questions were asked when he arrived with the rest of the group at the Great Library.

To her dismay, Jenna found that they were the first mages on the scene. The Library had been transformed into a makeshift shelter, where the people of the town who were too poor to have fortified homes, or too far away from those homes, could take refuge. The Aesthetics were furiously working to board up the windows and take the books into the cellar where they got into arguments about available space with the people of the city. In the distance, light shimmered, making it evident that the great city of Palanthas was burning.

Jenna took up her place in front of the door, where she would be able to protect the people inside, and more importantly in her estimation, the books. Catherine and Fie flanked the more experienced mage, and Evelynn and Raistlin stood discreetly towards the back of the alcove in front of the immense double doors.

Jenna looked at the younger mages dubiously. "Can either of you cast a shield spell?" She really hoped that she wouldn't have to be a complete baby-sitter.

Fie just looked at Catherine and grinned. He strode in front of Jenna, and removed a small vial of liquid from one of his component pouches. He slowly poured the pungent-smelling substance out in a semicircle, enclosing the mages in the doorway. At the front of the circle, he tossed a bit of sand across about a foot and a half of the moistened earth. Stepping back towards the rest of the group, he muttered the words of a spell, too quietly for Jenna to hear. She didn't recognize the components used, however, and hoped that it would be strong enough to withstand the onslaught that was sure to come.

She needn't have worried. As Fie reached his place within the group, semi-transparent, opalescent walls reared around them and closed around their heads. Where Fie scattered the sand, the wall shimmered a different color.

At Jenna and Catherine's mute shock, Raistlin decided that an explanation was needed. "He used a shield spell that separated from his store of magic as soon as it was cast. This will insure he does not use his life-force to maintain it. It is permeable to air, sound, and light, but nothing else. The sand was used to provide a gateway for any allies who might want to join us in this fool's quest." He spoke as though it were Jenna's fault that she had never come in contact with that particular spell out of Fistandantilus' books.

As Raistlin finished speaking, Dalamar appeared, looking considerably miffed at having been blocked by a shield. "Come in through the front." Jenna's voice gave away none of her shock at the fact that a novice was able to perform such a difficult spell.

Dalamar stalked through the shield, obviously annoyed, but not at the situation in front of him. "Ah, finally, a mage with common sense who is capable of casting a proper shield," Came his caustic greeting. He joined Jenna near the front of the shielded area.

"Those fools at the Conclave think I'm overreacting. They said that they will be sending that dundering fool of a White Robe, Palin, to see if…" Dalamar suddenly realized that he called his Shalafi's nephew a dundering fool.

"Quite all right," Raistlin rasped. "Any nephew of mine weak enough to wear White and follow Par-Salian around like a trained dog deserves to be called a fool. Continue telling us about the Conclave's latest idiocy."

Dalamar looked very relieved at Raistlin's reaction. "Anyway, they're sending Palin and a couple of other White Robed flunkies to see if I'm telling the truth. And they're likely going to take their own sweet time about it." Suddenly, Dalamar looked at Fie as though the young human had grown a second head. "What's in your pouches?"

Fie looked down at his bulging spell components pouches as though he'd forgotten they were there. "Oh, I'm not even sure why I brought it. A few days after the explosion, the spectres brought me a broken stone from outside. It's really weird – its grey, but it sometimes seems kind of opalescent."

Everyone save the Master of the Past and Present all stared at Fie blankly, but Raistlin seemed to know exactly what he was talking about. "Fie, that's wonderful!" He breathed, staring greedily at the rounded pouches. Noting the others' vapid looks, Raistlin explained. "I cannot know for sure, but I believe that the spectres had given Fie the pieces of the Greygem."

That sparked a reaction from the other Tested mages. "The Greygem?" Jenna looked at Raistlin skeptically. "You can't honestly mean…"

"We're fighting Chaos?" Dalamar cut in numbly.

"It is better to know the enemy in all of its fury than to be left to imagine how bad it could be." Evelynn spoke, abruptly reminding the rest of the group that she was there.

To everyone's surprise, Raistlin supported the barely-lucid elf. "Lady Evelynn is correct. We did not know before what we were fighting, and now we do. It is said that only a drop of Chaos' blood had trapped him in the Greygem to begin with. We should be able to trap him once more with the same."

"So those things…" Catherine's voice was nervous, but slightly puzzled still. "What are they?"

Dalamar didn't answer, as he was concentrating on opening the shield in order to let through a few straggling civilians. Jenna deferred to Raistlin, guessing correctly that he would know more about it than she. "While Chaos, the father of the gods, was trapped in the Greygem, he had no way to unleash his power. Now that he has emerged, he has called minions from his plane of being. While he is able to hurl raw power, it is much simpler for him to use his servants to do his dirty work, whatever that may be. I cannot say any more about his lackeys; all knowledge that may have once existed of them has been lost to the unremitting hand of time."

As Raistlin was speaking, the echoing screams that had pervaded the city since the morning began to get louder. The mages tensed, reaching for their spell components as they began calling to mind the words of the spell they guessed might be useful. Soon, more refugees were hurtling around the corner. Some screamed while others sought only to reach the library, their ragged breathing sounding impossibly louder than the cries of terror from their fellows.

Catherine, being less powerful than Fie and less experienced than Jenna took over the easiest job, holding the shield open while the terrified populace was hurried towards the library by Evelynn. She gasped, nearly slicing a person in two by letting her control over the shield wane as she saw what came around the corner of the street next. Regaining control of the shield, it was all she could do to gasp "Fie… Dalamar…"

Her warning was unneeded and unacknowledged, however, as everyone in the shield save the civilians was already staring at the horrors which were writhing through the streets of Palanthas. Leading the chase towards the fleeing humans was a dog, if such a mundane name could be assigned to such a monstrosity. The _thing_ was made of Chaos essence, a swirling, changing mass of angry colors that pulsed around, through, and under the creature's flesh in a way that made the horrified observers sick just watching. It had immense, slavering jaws, from which spittle flew occasionally, eating through the nearest surface like strong acid. Every once in a while, the immense creature let out a cry, a cry so terrible and unearthly that it was an effort for even those who were running not to raise their hands to their ears in a futile attempt to block the sound.

Following close behind the hound were floating things, vaguely human in shape. These things were dark shadows, pockets of nothingness that led nowhere. Only the occasional ripple of Chaos essence across their forms gave indication to the fact that they were something other than man-shaped portals into a void. As they came closer, Kit could see that the undulating colors of Chaos essence had formed eyes on the monsters, eyes she suddenly found she could not look away from.

"You young people have no sense these days. Look away!" Once again, Evelynn's clarity, especially in the face of such horrors, was astounding. Catherine found that the old, melodic voice was able to jerk her from whatever hellish stupor she'd fallen into. As she peered around in a daze, she realized that most of the others had also been entrapped by the spectres' eyes. She took a deep breath, praying to whatever deities might be listening that the runners would reach the gateway in time.

It appeared that, if any of the gods even heard, only the capricious Zeboim had the time to listen to mortals. Several more were able to run through the shield, but the dread hound of Chaos was quickly gaining. Catherine got the sense that it had been toying with the fleeing humans, as its stride was easy and long, and it showed no signs of strain or exhaustion. The people, on the other hand, were starting to lag, even engulfed by terror as they were. The hound of Chaos drew nearer, and still Catherine held open the gate.

Suddenly, she felt a power more experienced than her own wrench control of the gate from her. Shocked, she looked to find Dalamar concentrating on closing the doorway through the shield as quickly as possible. After a muttered spell word or two, it snapped shut. The people who were running towards it got looks of despair even deeper than the ones already on their faces. A little beggar girl running hand in hand with her grandmother was at the front of the straggling trail. Dalamar could not keep the people inside the library safe any longer with the shields held open, however. As the girl reached vainly towards the swiftly closing gateway, it snapped shut and cut her hand off just above the wrist.

Catherine began to scream, the keening wail of someone whose last shred of sanity was wavering. No one tried to calm her down; all were too horrified by the scene before them as Chaos' creatures fell upon the unfortunates too slow to reach the safety of the Great Library. Chaos' hound, running too quickly to stop before hitting the shield, leapt at the magic and pivoted off of it. The enormous beast went flying into the bodies of the stricken girl and her horrified elder, the momentum bearing them all to the ground. As it stood with a paw on each victim's chest, the hellhound took its time with the kills, drawing them out agonizingly as its victims shrieked in anguish.

The effects of the hound, however, were nothing compared to the atrocity inflicted by the shadows. They surrounded the remaining group of terrified people, all of whom stared at them with petrified eyes. Slowly, so that the horror-struck mages barely noticed at first, the shadowy abominations appeared to drain the life out of the people. At first, the civilians got a glazed look in their eyes, as the terror was drained out of them. Next to go was hope. The emotions, feelings, and the very souls were drained out of the people, and they were left with no sense of self. After they went dark-eyed with the vapid look of soullessness, another change began to come over them. Once more, the change was so subtle that the guardians of the library thought that their eyes were playing tricks on them.

The people surrounded by shadows began to fade, as though a heavy piece of glass was being held over them. Then, the lines of their bodies began to blur, penmarks being smudged by a careless hand. As they continued to fade, one by one, the people simply disappeared. Catherine wondered if a pop could be heard closer to the monstrosities as the people disintegrated.

All too soon, the defenders of the Library were brought out of their shocked reveries as the shadow beings, having finished off their original prey, turned their dark intentions upon the shield. Inward the fiends swept, and all within the barrier save Raistlin and Evelynn cringed as they reached the blockade. Quickly, Dalamar cast a second shield spell beneath the first in the hopes of holding off the fey beings for a little longer. Like Fie, he was careful to separate it from his life-force, so that he would not be killed in a futile attempt to hold it up.

To everyone's surprise, however, the outer shield held after flickering dangerously for a second. Unfortunately, this did not stop the shadows' devastating effects. Despite her knowledge of the dangers, Catherine accidentally found herself looking into the eyes of the nearest one. As she stared into the pools of infinity, she wondered about her purpose in life. She was just an orphan; no one wanted her. Her mother abhorred her enough to leave her with mages who mutilated her body. Dalamar was simply using her to further his own ends. If he weren't, why would he have waited so long to acknowledge her? She had no friends; no one as powerful as Fie would give much thought to friendship for very long. Even her power was of little consequence. Raistlin had said that it would wane with time, and he should know. Tears began streaming down her face as she realized that no one in this world or the one in which she grew up cared anything for her.

Suddenly, her vision of the swirling pools of angry, discordant colors was broken by a human obstruction. She felt herself being shaken by strong thin hands. After a few seconds, she was finally able to see what had gotten in her way. Fie was standing in front of her, and the periphery of her vision revealed Dalamar's tense hands on her shoulders.

"Kit!" Fie was breathing hard, and obviously was terrified. "Why did you look at them?" The young human's fear was manifesting itself in his sharp tone.

"I…" After Catherine started to speak, she realized that she had nothing to say. How could she communicate the numbing feeling of rejection, the feeling that nothing in the world was worth living for? How could she even have thought those things? The very fact that she was being interrogated by Fie, with her father's hands still holding tightly to her shoulders, proved how absurd her earlier thoughts had been.

"I'm sorry." They would have to be content with that. "Is there any way to prevent their gaze from catching us?" She tried to keep her voice from shaking.

"I'm not sure, but I think that possibly glass might refract the light enough that we will be protected." Fie seemed calm again, now that he could see that Catherine was not going to disappear. "Are there eyeglasses on this planet?" This new question was directed generally at the Krynnish natives.

"Some people do use spectacles to aid in their seeing, yes. There are likely to be several pairs inside the Library." Raistlin took it upon himself to go look for them. At Raistlin's disappearance, Jenna looked furious. "How dare he just leave us like that?" It seemed as though they would be relatively safe from the ravages of the shadowy horrors for as long as the shields held up and they could avoid looking at the terrible entities. However, Jenna did not feel very secure at the disappearance of the mage she deemed to hold the most power out of the group.

"There is very little he can do in this fight." Dalamar's tone, as well as the collapse of the outer shield under the onslaught of the wights and the hound which had joined them, made it impossible for Jenna to probe further. Frantically, the red-robed mage cast another shield beneath Dalamar's.

Within seconds, Raistlin returned, empty-handed. "Astinus said that I would be needed here, and that it would be a waste of time to attempt to part the near-sighted Aesthetics from their spectacles. What is wrong with the shadow-wights?" For a small amount of time, the assembled group could only stare at Raistlin, as his question came randomly and with no change in the emotion in his voice. Then, as one, they turned.

It appeared as though the shadow-wights, for that was their name in Astinus' great book, were retreating. They had given up pounding on the shields, and even Chaos' great hound had stopped jumping up in an attempt to use its own body as a battering ram. The defenders looked about in confusion because none of Chaos' servants appeared at all weakened by the constant pressure of the magical shields.

Just as suddenly as Chaos' minions backed away, the defenders found themselves cringing in fear. Raistlin and Dalamar knew the feeling to be dragon fear. All looked upward on impulse, and immediately wished that they hadn't. Above them were Chaos' dragons, too big to exist, even in the eyes of the mages who had seen dragons before. As with Chaos' other minions, their hides swirled with fiery colors that were constantly in motion. As one swooped down on a temple dedicated to Mishakal several streets away, it became evident why flames had been seen in the distance. Another dove towards the street, and when it came back up, the group was able to see it swallow a still-mounted knight whole.

"What is that sound?" Dalamar, able to fight through the paralyzing fear caused by the proximity of hostile dragons, had thought of the obvious question. Why would the shadow-wights and the hound be afraid of their own dragons? In trying to sense what could have caused them to pull back, he heard a fey noise on the wind.

One by one, the inexperienced fighters battled through their fear until they could hear and see with some amount of clarity again. "It sounds like song!" Out of the mortals who had never before seen a dragon, Evelynn's reaction was the most mild, likely because she had seen too much in her life to let anything scare her.

Catherine was the next to hear it, her half-elven ears picking up sounds still too distant for the full-blooded humans to sense. She shuddered at the cold sound that she could just barely hear. Within minutes, the sound became loud enough for even the humans to hear it clearly. Even Raistlin and Dalamar were chilled by what they heard.

A masculine voice was indeed singing, but the voice was distorted, almost robotic, as though the man's voice box had disappeared. The words were clear, however, and it was the words, as well as the insanity they held, that haunted the listeners more than the voice itself.

"The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out. They'll eat your guts and then spit them out. We'll wrap you up in a bloody sheet, and throw you down about fifty feet. But don't you laugh, and don't you cry, for you may be the next to die!" The lyrics were sung in a taunting, singsong tune, and the last word ended with an insane, high-pitched giggle. The whole thing was then repeated.

Soon after he came into hearing distance, the singer emerged around the corner. It was Arash, but he was barely recognizable. His limbs were oddly distended, as though he'd been stretched on a rack but maintained control of the maimed appendages. Under his skin, Chaos essence pulsed in place of blood. Every once in a while, the gore beneath his skin welled up and threatened to burst, but at the last possible second was reabsorbed. His eyes were swollen as well, appearing as huge globes on his face. They too throbbed with Chaos, and the furiously pulsating irises had engulfed the pupils and whites.

"Catherine, how nice to see you!" The laugh was deeper this time, and reminded the children of Earth of some long-forgotten Disney villain. However, there was nothing remotely benign or childlike about the situation. Suddenly, Arash seemed to realize that the shadow-wights and the hound were staring at him.

"Shoo." He made waving motions with his hands as though he couldn't imagine why they might still be there. "Go terrorize some civilians or something."

Dalamar looked at the human teen with trepidation. Had he not seen the horrible wonders of other planes in his days as Raistlin's apprentice, his uneasiness would likely be closer to fear.

"What do you want?" His daughter had apparently seen enough horrors that day that she too was not as frightened as a normal person should be. Having seemingly gotten over the fright of nearly being winked out of existence, she was facing off with Chaos' general with her hands on her hips and a fierce expression that looked utterly ridiculous on her too-young face.

"What do I want?" Arash looked utterly bemused at the ferocious question. " What do I want? Isn't it obvious? I want to destroy you." Dalamar felt nauseas. Obviously, the strain of the Chaos power running through the boy's blood vessels had broken him, in mind as well as in body.

Arash let out that horrible deep laugh of his again, and pointed at the shields blocking the door to the library and the defenders in front of it. A brilliant bolt of light colored in swirls of oranges and reds shot from his fingertips, striking the outer shield. The shield succumbed immediately. Arash grinned at their looks of shock.

Dalamar's hands went diving into his components pouches. One emerged immediately, bringing forth a delicate ring set with a dark stone. "Catherine, you and Fie take Evelynn back to the Tower. It is too dangerous for you to be here. The ring needs no activation. Simply make sure you're all touching and place it on your finger." Wisely, he did not suggest that the former Archmagus return with the children and the elder.

"No!" Catherine was firm, though she blushed slightly as she realized that Arash was watching eagerly, as a cat watches the mouse it is baiting. "We can't leave you here. You will need our power. Until someone from the Conclave arrives, you'll be lost if you don't have every able-bodied mage available!"

Dalamar was ready to argue with her until she gave in, but Arash made that impossible. Still laughing maniacally, he shot another bolt of power at the remaining shield and broke that one as easily as the first. He took his time as he scorched a ring around the pitiful defenders, destroying the beautiful façade of Astinus' temple of knowledge. He giggled as he sent a bolt of power tearing through a window and into a hapless Aesthetic who had been peering warily out.

Jenna cast a spell at Arash while he was distracted in the hopes of knocking him out, or at least slowing him down. Her powerful spell had no impact, however, the energy was simply absorbed by the creature Arash had become. He playfully blew a hole in the pavement at the Red Robe's feet.

"Why don't you do something?" Jenna was accusing Raistlin. "You're the only one powerful enough." She glared at him fiercely, one eye still cautiously watching Arash.

Raistlin simply shook his head. "I do not know what Dalamar sees in you. You obviously still have not yet figured out that I was sent back into this world powerless. I can advise and teach, but you had best look to your other allies if it is magic you seek." The former mage's voice was bitter.

"Oh, how cute." Arash broke the sudden silence. "If we're done with this touching little moment…"

As he spoke, Dalamar tried his luck with a spell, as Fie did the same. Despite the greater amount of power, their deadly barrage had barely more affect than Jenna's spell had seconds before. For a second, Arash seemed to loose his balance, but it was regained so quickly that the defenders thought that they had not seen him falter at all. He motioned to the demons who had been standing off to the side.

Several hounds surrounded the group once more as if called. One appeared to be the fiend that had menaced them earlier, and if possible, some of the others were even more horrendous. To the Earth children, the hellish mutts seemed as though they were the product of nuclear fallout – one had two heads, another three eyes. One limped along on three feet, the front one being centered in its chest.

These four monstrosities leapt at the group with evil intent, again commanded by silence. Commanded they obviously were, because they attacked the defenders in formation. Two leapt at the adult mages, one at Fie, and one menaced the two defenders not able to use magic, both helpless where they'd formerly been so powerful in their own ways. Arash stood back, waiting and laughing.

It obviously took Catherine a few seconds to realize that she was being singled out. Even when she did, she attempted to attract the attention of the hounds so that the other mages might have a chance. Dalamar watched helplessly as Catherine threw every spell he had taught her at the hounds. Nothing seemed to avail her, however, as they completely ignored her through everything from simple sleep spells to a fairly difficult spell of friendship that Dalamar had taught her just days before. Had the situation not been so dire, Dalamar would have felt pride for his newly found daughter as she moved from spell to spell without hesitation.

Though the other mages were having as little luck as Catherine was, the hounds did not move in for the kills, easy as it might have been. Instead, they simply herded them closer to the door of the Great Library until Catherine was left alone, a tiny child facing a menace too large for even the greatest of heroes.

Once he saw that she was positioned correctly, twenty or thirty feet away from him, Arash began throwing bolts of power once more, taunting her. Dalamar noticed with horror that even Evelynn had apparently lost hope, and was praying once more to a god that she had forsaken centuries prior. He noted that Jenna was beginning to run down on spells, as he himself was. Futilely, he cast one of his remaining death spells at Arash himself, where it had as little effect as it did on the hounds.

Finally, Arash spoke once more, his voice sounding above the deep growling and baying of the hellhounds. "You should feel honored, half-breed. Out of all the people of your paltry little group, I singled you out personally. Though that fag you call father might have directly caused my humiliation, the blame in the end rests solely with you. I asked Chaos to give you to me to kill specially. I hope you feel honored."

"If you want to blame someone, blame whatever hell-witch birthed you!" Catherine had obviously decided to go out fighting, and Dalamar couldn't help but grimace at the irony that the self-same 'hell-witch' who was Arash's mother was his daughter's own mother as well.

Baiting Arash seemed to make him move more quickly, if nothing else. He allowed a huge mass of power to accumulate in his hand, shaping itself in a mockery of Paladine's divine spear of justice. Dalamar could hear Catherine pointlessly chanting the words of her last spell. Though he didn't know what it could possibly do, Dalamar had to admit that the girl had saved the best for last. It was one of the deadliest spells a beginner red-robe could summon, one that would suck the energy out of any creature.

Time seemed to slow down. As Arash released his bolt of unholy lightening, Catherine finished chanting her spell and hurled a dead lizard at Arash. Her gruesome component reached him a second before his missile reached her, and miraculously, her spell worked. It seemed as though Arash had been vulnerable in the instant that he released the power. Dalamar supposed that release of power had opened a split-second channel to the Chaos-essence he was using. In the moments before the bolt hit Catherine, Arash seemed to crumple, the essence that kept him alive being pulled away into a nether-dimension. The gross pustules that had undulated across Arash's body popped as Chaos sensed his power being drained and strove to reclaim as much as possible. As Arash's power left his body, the hellhounds fled as well, deciding to join the Master who still had power.

The bolt of power hit Catherine as Arash collapsed. Despite the inevitability of it all, her expression was one of shock as the power of the thrust spun her around to face the horrified group of defenders. Dalamar and Fie reached the fallen girl at the same moment, and when Fie felt for her pulse, his face told all that was needed. How quickly the lives of mortals are lost.


	13. And the Pattern Still Remains

**Disclaimer:** Though I would like to, I cannot say that I am making any money off of this story. I also own nothing save a few of the characters, and the plot. 

**Author's Note:** This chapter goes up in honor of the new DragonLance book being released today, which I won't be able to read for at least two to three weeks! Cries Please review! Reviews feed ideas! Speaking of food, a cookie to any reviewer who can find the random Mary Poppins tribute. Though he can't get a cookie for finding the Mary Poppins reference because he was there when I came up with it, I also give a cookie (along with a cameo) to my wonderful beta, Valgorúth! I hope you enjoy, and once again, I beg you – review!

**The Pattern Still Remains, on the Wall Where Darkness Fell**

The Dark Queen cursed. Due to her blasted father, her plans were ruined, or at least postponed. She had worked so hard over the last few years, building an army of unparalleled might. Now, her army would have to be destroyed.

Her Abyss-cursed father had decided that he was going to destroy her world. Didn't he have anything better to do? So now, her army had to join everyone else like good little soldiers, and help fight. If they didn't, Chaos might win, and then there would be no world left for her to take over. Curses!

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Dalamar felt as though the world were dropping out from under him. The world seemed to spin as his stomach dropped abruptly from its position in his throat to the soles of his feet. He knelt beside the body of his daughter, an action governed more by a desire to regain equilibrium than a feeling that there was anything that could be done.

For what seemed the first time in his life, Dalamar was truly sad at the loss of another's life. While he had been heartbroken at his expulsion from his homeland, he had never been close enough, never let himself get close enough, to another being to truly mourn their loss. However, over the past months, his daughter had wormed her way into his heart. He found himself remembering their few months together – her laugh, her determination, her fire. For what may have been the first time in his life since childhood, Dalamar felt a single tear drip down his face.

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At Chaos' sudden retreat with the loss of his general, several of the metallic dragons that had been hovering just out of the range of their demonic brethren were able to wing their way to the Library. Quickly, their riders dismounted, and the dragons arranged themselves so that they would be able to defend the street.

Dunbar Mastermate, appointed head of the Order of the White Robes by the former archmagus Par-Salian, quickly appraised the situation before his eyes. Not commenting upon the two black-robed magi huddling over a body, he strode towards the mage who appeared to be in charge. Close behind him limped Justarius, the Head of the Conclave.

"Daughter!" Justarius' call brought Jenna out of her stunned reverie. "What has occurred here?" Justarius wanted to know the state of the defense at the library, as it was obvious that Chaos was destroying the city. He seemed not to notice Evelynn or Raistlin standing in the shadowy doorway to the Library.

For a moment, Jenna could not speak. She was struck dumb by the display of power she'd witnessed moments before from the two children that she had thought to guard. Now that Chaos was not an immediate threat, her mind was attempting to come to terms with the impossible power displayed by the young human, and the impressive display from the mysterious half-elven maid.

For the moment, Jenna was saved from the need to respond by Palin, the son of Caramon and Tika Majere. "Uncle?" The boy was dumbfounded.

The former archmagus sighed as he emerged from the shadows where the glint of his golden skin had attracted the attention of his nephew. Gasps were heard from all of the newly arrived members of the Conclave. At the sounds of horror from his fellow mages, Raistlin was tempted to wave his hands and mutter arcane words, but such childish pranks were beneath him.

"You must be Palin." Raistlin's voice was acidic as he regarded his nephew. "I had heard that a relative of mine had joined the White Robes. You have not been Tested yet?" The last question was rhetorical, as Palin's simple robes indicated a novice still under the guidance of a sponsor.

"No, Uncle." Though Palin was still young as mages go, he was older than Raistlin was at his own Test, and it was obvious that the archmagus had expected any relatives of his to excel in the same fashion.

Suddenly, the thunder of mortal hooves was heard. The dragons moved aside in order to let the horsemen pass. A troop of soldiers had arrived from the gate, having decided that it would be more productive for them to guard the only surviving citizens of the city than to attempt to defend Palanthas itself.

"Ah, Lord Tanis, you have arrived." As Justarius greeted the half-elf, Raistlin slipped unnoticed to Dalamar's side.

"Blast it! As far as I can tell, there is no way for my men to stop Chaos." Tanis was ranting as he dismounted, and his only acknowledgement of the mages was a nod of his head. "Have you any ideas, Justarius?"

"As far as I know, such an attack on Krynn has never been waged before. The last time Chaos attempted to interfere with the world, he was entrapped by Reorx in the Greygem. As we do not possess the Greygem, to defeat him in the same manner would be impossible. Even should all of the mages of the Conclave band together, it could not be done. We would need one person of immense power to channel the spell, and we do not have one such. Even if we did, we do not have a spell to create another prison for Chaos, and to create one would take too much time." Justarius shook his head wearily. Though not a truly old man, he was beginning to feel the pull of time.

"I suppose then, that we must simply attempt to protect these people, or die in the effort." Tanis mounted his destrier once more and began shouting to his troops to surround the Library.

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Dalamar barely stirred when he felt the long delicate hand resting on his shoulder. He wished that whoever was disturbing him would go away and allow him to mourn in peace.

"Apprentice, you must get up now. You're making a fool of yourself." Raistlin's harsh voice brought the dark elf back into the real world. "Besides, you have three days."

"Three days," Dalamar asked dumbly. He turned his grief-wracked face upward to look at his Shalafi.

"Until her soul will be completely severed from her body." Raistlin spoke patiently, as though explaining something to a simpleton.

Dalamar blinked a couple of times, and his expression of horrified grief transformed into one of hopeful curiosity. "How?"

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Before Justarius could remember the precipitous return of Raistlin to Krynn, Raistlin had disappeared from the Library. On his finger was a ring spelled to take him to his Tower in Palanthas, in his pocket one to return him to wherever Dalamar was when he was finished. In the confusion of the milling armies and mages, he was soon forgotten. Dalamar carried Catherine's body into the Library and joined his fellow mages; Fie trailed by his side, unnoticed. No one seemed to care what happened to the body of Arash.

"I apologize for the delay." The dark-skinned Ergothian spoke as though the negligence of the Conclave had caused a minor inconvenience rather than an immense loss of life. Dalamar seethed silently at Conclave politics. "We had decided that in case there truly was a crisis in Palanthas as you'd reported, Dalamar, it would be safer to conjure a Sending to investigate rather than having Palin do the same work. Of course, once it had returned, time was needed to extract the relevant information." Were Dalamar not completely exhausted, he would have had difficulty refraining from cursing the other two Heads of the Orders to the deepest bowels of the Abyss for their implication that he had either lied or grossly overreacted.

"Now that we have properly judged the magnitude of the situation, we shall send Palin back to Wayreth to request that the rest of the mages join us." At Justarius' dismissal, the novice mage bowed and used a ring to return to the Tower rather than taking a dragon away from the Library's defense.

"You should listen when your elders speak, young man." All of the mages jumped as Evelynn snapped at Justarius; no one had noticed her sneaking up quietly behind them. "Just because someone has a dark soul does not mean that they always lie. And just because someone looks younger than you doesn't mean that they are!" With that, Evelynn began humming a melody of a hymn and appeared not to be listening any more.

"We don't have time to argue or lay blame." Much as he wanted to do just that, Dalamar decided that the present war on Chaos was more important than a personal vendetta against his lover's father. "Chaos will soon recover from my daughter's sacrifice, and we must be as prepared as we can. Jenna, Fie, and I need to rest. We have used up nearly all of our spells." With that, Dalamar gently pushed Fie towards the Library. He himself followed after lifting his daughter's prone body. With an apologetic shrug at her father, Jenna yawned and followed. Evelynn trailed behind the young Red Robe, forgotten once more.

Inside the doors of the Great Library, Fie was waiting for Dalamar. "Where do we go now?" The teen was obviously having trouble staying on his feet.

"To Astinus." Dalamar was exhausted as well, but did not let it show as he strode towards the study of the mysterious historian. Even the proud dark elf bowed as he entered Astinus' chamber.

Fie, taking his cue from Dalamar, was astonished when Astinus spoke without taking eyes or quill from parchment. "Welcome all. You will find four rooms to your tastes if you walk to your left after you leave my study. You will be undisturbed while you sleep. Gods know that the Aesthetics won't be returning to claim them any time soon!" Astinus' mouth turned up slightly at the corners as he looked up at the group while continuing to write assiduously.

Dalamar bowed once more, with the others mirroring his actions and trying not to topple over with weariness. Fie silently marveled that the dark elf could be so graceful, even with his exhaustion and the weight of his daughter's body in his arms.

When they got to the promised rooms, the mages entered with the intention to study their spells. Within moments of sitting down at the Spartan desks, however, all fell asleep. Only Evelynn was left awake, laying in bed and thinking dark thoughts. Only moments after his head hit the large spellbook on the desk before him, Dalamar began to dream…

…The world slowly came into focus for Dalamar. The three gods of magic were standing around a bier. As the dark elf wandered closer, he could see that an ornate coffin was resting among the gods. The coffin was of flawless obsidian, with veins of red gold and silver tracing runes of magic.

"This was _not_ supposed to happen." Even the classically calm and even-handed Lunitari was upset. The lovely goddess' face was a mask of anger as she regarded the prone figure in front of her.

"This is all your fault." Nuitari's voice was even colder than normal as he glared at his Good cousin. "It was your precious mage who misinterpreted the prophesy!" In a sudden burst of inspiration, Dalamar realized who was on the bier. It was his daughter entombed in the elegant coffin.

"You cannot place upon me the blame that mortals cannot comprehend the many paths and meanings of true prophesy." As Dalamar crept closer, still unnoticed, a backdrop came into view. He could now see that they were in a room, and the wall on the opposite side of the bier was covered in an intricate web. Thousands of strands of color covered the wall. Once in a while, one would wink out, or another strand would come into being.

"Besides which, if _your _mage had kept track of his seed, none of this trouble would have happened in the first place." Lunitari put aside her anger for the moment as she stepped between her two cousins, who looked as though they were about to curse each other into oblivion.

"Boys." Her tone was reproachful. "Arguing is not going to do anything. Besides which, we have a guest." Dalamar jumped as he realized that the goddess had noticed him over her cousins' shoulders.

"Masters, Lady." Dalamar bowed low. "I did not mean to intrude."

Nuitari motioned for his mage to rise. "Of course not." His voice was tart, but held none of the malice that had seconds ago been directed at Solinari. "You had no choice about whether or not to intrude, because I called you here!" He motioned for Dalamar to approach.

"We were just discussing the fact that somehow," He glared at Solinari again, "your daughter was removed from the mortal plane for no reason at all."

Dalamar blinked in shock. "What are you saying?"

"He's saying that…" Lunitari attempted to intervene in order to keep the tempers of her cousins at bay. Unfortunately, she was not successful, as Nuitari cut her off.

"That the imbecilic Par-Salian brought an innocent into a prophesy that had nothing to do with her, and could not be changed even if it did!" The god of Dark Magic was obviously furious.

"An innocent?" Dalamar's mind worked furiously to process what he had been told, but it did not seem to be working.

"The prophesy was never about your daughter." Solinari seemed annoyed that yet another mortal had misunderstood the cryptic message of the gods. "Its subject was not within our reach, however, so the message had to be delivered through another at the time of birth." He drummed his fingers on the shiny surface of the coffin as though bored with the proceedings.

"Not about Kit? Not in your reach?" Dalamar's face contorted as he attempted to comprehend. Suddenly, understanding dawned on his handsome Elven features. "Fie…" he breathed in amazement. "It never involved her?"

"Of course not." Nuitari's voice was acidic. "But, of course, Par-Salian always has to know _everything_, so he acted upon his first idea. Technically, your daughter never should have been exiled in the first place." The dark god smiled as he watched Dalamar go from a deep, angry shade of red to a white nearly paler that Solinari's robes.

Dalamar's hands clenched and unclenched within the sleeves of his robes. He breathing staggered as he attempted to contain his anger, knowing it would do no good against the gods.

"What was done, was done." Lunitari's voice was soothing. "There is something you could do, though. You know what."

Dalamar finally managed to shove his emotions behind their normal façade. "Are you saying that I should…" The implications were stunning.

"We do not normally condone necromancy," at Lunitari's words, Nuitari rolled his eyes. Obviously, he did not approve of that regulation. "However, Zivilin has foreseen for us all possible futures. He has seen that in all times when Catherine no longer exists, Krynn is doomed. While the world is no better off in some futures where she survives, there is hope. Be warned, however. She will be changed if you should succeed."

"Separate futures?" Dalamar was confused. Wasn't the future a concrete path, set down by the gods?

"Of course. Come forth." Nuitari beckoned to his servant. Dalamar followed the god of Black magic to the wall he had seen before. "This shows only the paths of prophesy, but time works in a similar direction." Now that Dalamar was closer, he could see that each colored thread followed a straight line until a certain point, where it branched out. The effect was much like observing a multi-colored forest.

"The single paths are the past. The branches are the current prophesy. When the subject of the prophesy makes a choice, some paths are erased. Others form." He allowed Dalamar to examine the intertwined branches for a few moments, and then led the mage away. "Now, you know what you must do. You will need the support of others, for it is a powerful spell. Take care not to overtax yourself." The other gods, as well as the room, faded into oblivion. "You shall do well, my son…

… Dalamar opened his eyes with a jolt. Judging by the light coming in through the small window, he had been asleep for the entire afternoon and night, along with most of the morning. Suddenly, he realized that he would have slept longer had not something … someone, been shaking his shoulder vigorously.

"Finally, you woke up! Lord Tanis is having a conniption outside because some more dragons showed up, and he sent me to wake you." Fie's face told Dalamar exactly what the young man thought about being used as a messenger. Wryly, the dark elf thought about how lucky Tanis was that Fie could not risk using any of his spells prior to the battle. With a sigh mourning his lost sleep, he sat up.

"Coming." Dalamar trailed Fie out of the Aesthetic's cell, rubbing his eyes and studying his spellbook. He mechanically accepted a piece of bread that Evelynn handed to him as she followed the mages out, his eyes still glued to the spells. It was only when Evelynn gasped at what she saw in the daylight that the exile looked up from his studies.

Arrayed around the streets surrounding the Library were about a dozen dragons. What Fie had failed to mention was that they were the chromatic dragons that were generally allied with Takhisis, rather than their metallic cousins. Several feet away from the dragons, Tanis stood, arguing with who appeared to be a rider. Dalamar shook his head in exasperation. Did he have to do _everything_ around here?

Motioning for Fie to stay behind, a motion as promptly ignored as it was given, Dalamar strode towards the dragons. Ignoring the human arguing with the half-elf on the ground, Dalamar approached one of the dragons directly. He did not bother with the immense red who had a rider's harness on it, knowing that the dragon would be too in-tune with its rider's feelings to have a rational conversation. Instead, he walked to one of the smaller dragons, a female black dragon with elegant, sinuous features.

"Greetings, My Lady…" Dalamar bowed low to the dragon, waiting for her to supply her own name.

"Stygia." The dragon sounded pleased at being treated with such reverence.

"My Lady Stygia." Dalamar acknowledged. "I am Dalamar Argent. What is the difficulty?" Dalamar was truly puzzled; the dragons were obviously not attacking!

"We were sent by Her Dark Majesty." Though Dalamar did not think much of the Five-Headed Dragon, he gave a small bow of acknowledgement and honor. "She told us that our help would be needed. There are more troops of many races waiting for our word. However, this steel-head here," she indicated Tanis, "seems to think that he is too noble to accept help from Evil." She tossed her head and snorted, allowing a small jet of flame to sear the empty sky to indicate her displeasure.

"Perhaps I can help iron things out, Lady?" He bowed once more.

"Wonderful. Why is it that we 'evil' beings seem to be the only ones with any sense?" Dalamar smiled wryly up at her, and walked back to where Tanis was standing.

"Lord Tanis, a word?" While Dalamar did not by any means need to use the honorific, he'd found that courtesy sometimes was a bit more helpful. He pulled the unresisting half-elf to the side. As soon as they were out of immediate hearing, Dalamar stopped walking. Turning the general around, he cut off all attempts at further niceties.

"What in the name of the Dark Moon do you think you are doing?" While Dalamar's voice was kept to a barely-audible whisper, the effect was the same as though he had shouted.

Tanis was saved a reply for the moment, however. With the loud snap that indicated a novice using a transportation spell, Palin appeared in the increasingly-crowded courtyard. Spotting the trouble immediately, he walked over to where Tanis and Dalamar were standing.

"Lords." He bowed to both. "I do hope that you haven't done anything rash." Dragonfear was obviously affecting the boy, and he was babbling slightly. "The Conclave sent me with a message." Dalamar's 'hurry up' glare seemed to only increase Palin's discomfort. "They said… They said not to do anything rash before they sent more back up. And, I would most definitely say that joining with those… those _things_ would be considered rash!" Dalamar smirked. It seemed that all representatives of Good regained their composure at the chance to preach.

Tanis nodded. "That is what I was about to explain to Lord Dalamar." Tanis too had obviously decided that courtesy veiling insult was the best course of action. "I fought dragons such as that in the War of the Lance. They and their Evil allies are not to be trusted."

Unfortunately for him, Tanis seemed to have forgotten the fact that Dalamar had spent the greater part of his life as a servant in a culture where a sentence without a hidden insult was akin to a day without light. "Ah. I see, Lord Tanis. As a Hero of the Lance, you won't be needing help against Chaos. Once I explain that to the dragons, I'm sure that they will have no problem departing to safety, and bringing Fie and myself with them." He turned, caught Fie's arm, and began walking back towards the dragons.

"Wait!" Obviously, Tanis had realized that he would need all of the help he could get, no matter how distasteful. Dalamar paused in his march, waiting for Tanis to apologize. "I suppose that we may need backup." Dalamar knew that would be as close to an apology as he would get, and he nodded an acceptance.

"Good. I shall inform the Dark Queen's troops of your de…" He paused as he saw Raistlin appear, clutching an immense spellbook. He wondered if the situation could get any more amusing. "Ah, Shalafi. You have returned!" Dalamar bowed, veiling his smirk behind a curtain of dark hair.

"Raistlin?" Tanis' voice emerged as a surprised near-squeak. "You… But…" He subsided into a noiseless state of shock.

"Close your mouth, Tanis. You look like a codfish." The former archmagus turned to Dalamar. "I have obtained the needed spell." He handed the dark elf the tome, erasing any need for Dalamar to make a request that would reveal their shifted positions. Dalamar grasped the night-blue tome hesitantly, half-worried that it would sear him for the crime of touching it. Nothing happened, however. "When you are ready to use it, I will oversee the spell." Raistlin wandered back to the Library.

"Now, if we have come to an agreement?" Tanis nodded, still in shock, and Palin was too entranced by the spellbook of Fistandantilus to protest. Dalamar decided to take that as a yes. Once more, he walked towards the dragons, trailed by Fie. As he passed the human rider, the man seemed more than slightly miffed that Dalamar ignored him.

Dalamar took no heed, however, and walked back to the elegant black dragon. "Lady Stygia? We have come to an accord. Lord Tanis has come to the conclusion that you and your brethren would be an invaluable addition to our cause." Dalamar smiled to himself as Stygia stretched her neck in pleasure – dragons were notorious for their adoration of compliments.

"Then we shall join you." She trumpeted her message to her fellows, and it was only through supreme will that Dalamar managed not to cover his ears against the terrible, yet melodic sound. "Thank you, magus." Dalamar looked up at the formidable creature, surprised. "You have given us a chance to defend our homes. Though we are allied with the Dark Queen, we still care for Krynn! We, as she, have recognized that the best chance that Krynn has to survive is if we join in the protection of Palanthas and its Library."

"I understand, Lady Stygia." And Dalamar did understand, more than most. Too often it was that one of Evil loved the land, but the land did not love Evil.

As the chromatic dragons flew off, going either to more strategic positions or to alert the rest of the troops of the decision, Stygia turned back to Dalamar. "Magus, is there anything that you need?" Suddenly, the dragon seemed slightly shy. "I do not have a rider, and you should not use all of your spells up before a battle."

Dalamar was about to defer the favor until a later date, but then he realized that there was something he needed. "Lady, can you carry myself and another?" Blacks were, by nature, one of the smallest breeds of dragons, and Stygia was obviously not fully matured.

Stygia, however, seemed to see no problem. She snorted a small puff of flame in indignation. "Of course I can! Where is it that you need to go?"

"I seek the magus Par-Salian, retired head of the Conclave." Dalamar's eyes glinted cruelly. "I believe that he has taken residence in a house outside of Wayreth Forest. Of course, he's enchanted the house to follow the Forest, but I'm sure that between the two of us, we can find it."

Stygia grinned toothily, realizing that Par-Salian would be less than pleased at this surprise visit. "Get my other passenger then, mage, and we'll be off to find this Parsley of yours." Dalamar did not bother correcting her pronunciation.

A few minutes later, Dalamar returned to where Stygia was sitting. She had gotten several soldiers to put a saddle on her, and was looking very pleased at the attention. "Like it?" Stygia's dark opalescent eyes glimmered with delight, and she shook her body comfortably before kneeling down so that Dalamar would have a chance of clambering on.

"You look lovely, My Lady." He handed his burden to a nearby soldier so he could mount. The soldier nearly protested as he realized that it was a young girl's corpse that had been pressed into his unresisting arms, but subsided at a glare from Dalamar. After only a bit of a struggle, the dark elf was on the dragon's back, and accepted his daughter's body from the soldier. When he thought Dalamar wasn't looking, the soldier wiped his hands on his pants in disgust. Dalamar decided that he didn't care enough to waste a spell on the man.

"Are you ready?" Stygia sounded excited at the prospect of a flight. At Dalamar's murmured assent, Stygia broke into a long, rhythmic lope in order to gain momentum. Her immense wings flapped, jolting the elf sitting between her shoulder blades. He turned to make sure that Catherine was securely bound.

The flight to Wayreth was long, but not onerous for Dalamar. Stygia was a good companion. She was surprisingly cheerful and playful, characteristics not often found in dragons, much less ones allied to Evil. It was also fascinating to talk to a creature of such immense intelligence, and yet so different from the other sentient races of Krynn. The two had formed a friendship before the hours of the flight were over.

Finally, the Forest of Wayreth loomed in the distance. Luckily, Par-Salian's manor was visible from Stygia's back; Dalamar did not want to waste time that he did not have in looking for it. Stygia began a circling descent towards the manor. Within minutes, the two were on the ground. Not waiting for Dalamar's okay, Stygia took the initiative, trumpeting their arrival.

Within seconds, a startled-looking elven apprentice stumbled outside. His look of shock only increased when he realized that the clarion call had been produced by a fierce-looking black dragon, ridden by an equally fierce-looking mage. For a moment, the young man struggled with himself. Here was a dark elf, dropped at his doorstep, and he would be expected to welcome this nefarious stranger! Finally, the beliefs of the Conclave overrode decades of Elven teachings. "Yes?" Despite the obvious effort he made to be polite, the elf's voice was harsh with disapproval.

"I am here to see Par-Salian." Dalamar wanted to waste no more time.

"Who may I say is calling, please?" The White-Robed apprentice fell into the familiar pattern of greeting strangers, and had his hands clasped behind his back.

"Dalamar the Dark, Head of the Order of the Black Robes." Dalamar couldn't resist the reinforcement that it was a Dark Elf who dared to call on the former head of the White Robes. "Tell him that it is urgent. And your name is?"

"Valgorúth. I shall inform Master Par-Salian of your request immediately, Sir." The White Robed elf spun on his heel and reentered the manor.

Stygia shifted onto three legs, and began examining the claws on one ebon limb. "Why do I get the feeling that your Master Par-Silly will need more encouragement?"

Dalamar was prevented from answering with the return of Valgorúth at the door. "Sir, my Master is quite busy at the moment, and asked me to beg your indulgence. He is performing a delicate experiment, and cannot be disturbed by visitors for several days."

Dalamar felt his temper rising again, both at the thought of his mission, and the fact that Par-Salian had asked his apprentice to lie in order to get rid of him. Before he could either answer or curse the boy into oblivion, Stygia answered for him. "Please inform Master Parsnip that we are quite content to wait." The young man bowed and went back into the mansion.

"Stygia, why did you say that? You know that we do not have time to wait for the old man to get around to seeing us!" Dalamar was furious.

Stygia craned her sinuous neck around to look at her passenger. She said nothing, only acknowledging Dalamar's anger with a toothy draconian grin. She turned around again so that she was facing the door. The dark elf could feel Stygia's back expanding as she took a deep breath. Shifting her wings so that she was aimed correctly, the black dragon let out her gust of air in the form of fire. Not a second had passed before the door to Par-Salian's house was completely incinerated.

"My dear Dalamar, I had no intention of waiting." She allowed the doorframe to burn a second longer before putting out the fire with a muttered spell. Once again, her terrible, beautiful call sounded, this time in triumph and pleasure.

The two watched the hallway as Valgorúth emerged around the corner. Upon catching sight of the decimated door, the White-Robed apprentice paled, and raced away to find his Master. By the time Par-Salian came to the spot where the door used to be, Dalamar had dismounted.

"Dalamar, what is the meaning of this? You can't just go around destroying peoples' property on a whim! I had asked you to wait." The old man's skin was blotchy from anger.

Dalamar's mouth curved into a cruel sneer. "My apologies, _Master_ Par-Salian. Dragons do not care for human rules and boundaries." Stygia decided to show off her perfect teeth, each one larger than Par-Salian's head. Dalamar got the pleasure of seeing the former Master of the Conclave look more than a little abashed.

"I came here to ask a favor of you. I'm not the only one who has destroyed something dear to someone recently." Par-Salian looked confused, even more so when Stygia gently reached around to her back and lifted a black-shrouded body with gentle claws. "My daughter died in battle against Chaos, and it is more than partly your fault."

"My… My fault? How?" Par-Salian's voice rang with holy indignation.

"Where to start?" Dalamar steepled his fingers. "Well, for one thing, you meddled in a prophesy that you did not understand, and sentenced my daughter to a life without magic. Oh, by the way, the gods of magic let me in on a little secret. Were you aware that Catherine had nothing to do with the prophesy in the first place? No? Good. I hope it rests on your 'White' conscience that because of your meddling, an innocent life was lost for absolutely no reason.

"Your part in this is neither here nor there, however, for the moment. You are to keep my daughter's body safe. I will return within two days, at which point, you will help me with a little experiment. If you harm a single hair on her head between now and then, I will pluck the images of your worst fears from your meddling little mind, and entertain myself with them. No, I won't kill you for it. I will, however, bring you so close to death so many times that you will wish that you could die and go to the Abyss and suffer at the hands of Her Dark Majesty, just so that you could escape me. Have I made myself clear?"


	14. And It's Fitting That It Should

**Disclaimer:** By this time, if you haven't figured out that whether or not I own anything Wizards of the Coast or otherwise copywrited, you should go ask Bupu about it. 

**A/N:** Another chapter down. Thanks to all of you who have continued your support and your reviews. It is always appreciated. Now, as the story draws closer to a resolution, I ask again that you review and remind you that all criticism, suggestions, and help (and praise…) is welcome and valuedA million thanks to my amazing beta, Valgorúth, who gave me my first lesson in writing a battle, and a major boost in self-esteem about such writing. Were I not for you, I think that this chapter would have ended up a complete mess, rather than something I'm fairly happy with. Before I leave you alone to read (and review!) I do have a couple of announcements. I had intended on finishing this story before I leave for college, but as that is in a week and a half, I doubt that will happen. In case it doesn't, I am sorry, and I will try my hardest to update quickly with the last chapter. Thanks for your understanding!

**And It's Fitting That It Should, For In Darkness I Must Dwell**

When Dalamar and Stygia returned to the Library, Dalamar was glad to see that the forces sent by Takhisis seemed well trained. They had already set up defenses around the Great Library, and were patrolling diligently. The chromatic dragons had taken it upon themselves to roost on top of the nearby buildings, where they stayed in uneasy truce with their Good cousins.

Bidding Stygia farewell for the moment, Dalamar trudged wearily back to his borrowed quarters in the Library. With an exhausted sigh, he sat down and opened the spellbook that Raistlin had given him. As he had suspected, the magic in it was advanced enough that the letters did not define themselves for several minutes, and even then, the dark elf had difficulty divining their meaning. Lamenting the time that would be lost in the translation of the spell, Dalamar grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and braced himself for hours of grueling work.

After only a few more minutes of study, Dalamar's concentration was broken by a hammering on the door. Muttering about imbeciles who deserved to be damned to the bowels of the Abyss, the dark elf roused himself from the book, where he had finally seemed to have made a breakthrough. Seeing that his intruder was Fie, Dalamar restrained himself from blowing him off of the face of the world.

"Yes? I hope this is important." While he could prevent himself from doing the boy bodily harm, Dalamar could not contain his anger at being disturbed.

"I need more spells." Fie too did not seem willing to sheath the dagger that served as his tongue. "Raistlin said that I could use your spellbooks to study from."

Indignant at this breach in authority, Dalamar wondered if Raistlin had framed his advice in quite those terms. "And why do you think that I would let you study from my books, books which are likely too advanced for you to read anyway?" Dalamar had little patience for apprentices to begin with, and this particular one was truly beginning to try his nerves.

Fie paled in anger. "I'm tired of you treating me as though I'm worthless. I'm more powerful than you, and you know it. Denying me knowledge will do nothing for your cause. You're just jealous because someone more powerful than you came along, and that it's me. No, that's not it. I figured it out." Fie's voice was level, taunting, worrying Dalamar much more than it would if he had been shouting. "You're not jealous; you're _afraid_ of me. You're afraid of what I am, afraid of what I can do, afraid of what I may become. And do you know what? Maybe you should be. But for now, we're both fighting Chaos, and for me to do that, I need more spells."

Too shocked by Fie's tirade and threats to do anything else, Dalamar mutely got the requested book and handed it to the young human. Not wishing to let the boy get the last laugh, but too confused to come up with a witty retort, Dalamar shut the door in Fie's face. He knew it was a petty thing to do, but he decided that even evil mages are entitled to be petty, once in a while. The dark elf could barely believe that the bright, courteous boy he had rescued from Earth could have gotten so hungry for magic and power in such a short time.

Looking down at the book before him, Dalamar suddenly realized the futility in his efforts. Even if he managed to translate the spell in time to save his daughter, which in itself was doubtful, he would not have the hours needed to memorize a spell of this magnitude for the first time. Even should he achieve that, he would still not have the time to arrange for the bevy of mages that would surely be needed for their power. And of course, on top of it all was the fact that no able-bodied mage could be spared from fighting Chaos for over two days, no matter what the reason. Briefly, he considered asking Fie for assistance, but no matter how powerful the boy was, he was not well-trained enough to read the spell with any more success than Dalamar himself had.

Not particularly expecting any divine intervention, Dalamar gave in to the strain that he had been under for the past few days. "Sweet Nuitari, help me! How in the name of Your Dark Moon do You expect me to save my daughter if I can't even read the spell? I thought that You did not assign impossible tasks to mortals, but it appears that I was wrong!" Dalamar shouted, more out of frustration than any hope of being heard.

"No need to scream. My ears work very well." Mouth agape, Dalamar leapt to his feet.

"My Lord! I… I didn't mean…" Dalamar was too stunned by the arrival of his god to speak in coherent sentences.

"Don't grovel." Nuitari's deep voice was tinged with amusement, along with its usual cynicism. "It doesn't become you. Neither does self-pity, by the way. Now, what seems to be the problem?"

Regaining his composure slightly, Dalamar bowed. "My apologies, Lord. I did not mean to disturb you. There is no problem." Though part of Dalamar's brain told him that the god had come to be ranted at in the first place, that voice was drowned out by his pragmatic side, which told him that it did not do to anger the gods.

Nuitari's thin mouth curved into a slight smile. "I would not be here if there was no problem. Now, let's see that spell of yours." The god of the Unseen Moon reached out his hand, and the spellbook flew into it obediently. "Hmm, Fistandantilus' work, I see. I should have known that you would settle for nothing less than the best you could get."

As Dalamar watched enviously, Nuitari flipped through the excessively long spell, internalizing its contents. "Unfortunately, however, you are right – the best in this case does seem to be a bit inadequate. Due to my cousins' decree, (over my strong objections I assure you!) necromancy is not permitted. Because of that, Fistandantilus never had the occasion to try out his spell. While it is beautifully written, had he tested it, Fistandantilus would have realized how dreadfully cumbersome this whole thing is. My apologies. I did not remember how little mortals truly knew about death and its workings."

Shaking his head in annoyance, Nuitari tossed the priceless spellbook across the room, where it landed in a heap in the corner like so much refuse. He either didn't notice or didn't care that Dalamar seemed close to despair at the sight. "I believe…" The patron of Evil magic thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. "Ah. This should be better." A new, unfamiliar book arrived in Nuitari's hand. "The correct page is marked. Now, if you are done with your little pity party?" With that, Nuitari disappeared as soundlessly as he had come. The spellbook plopped neatly to the floor.

Confused as to who could have crafted a necromantic spell better than Fistandantilus, Dalamar picked the new spellbook up gingerly. He nearly dropped it again as he realized whose it was. Bound in a black alien fabric that was so dark it seemed to suck the light out of the room, the book could belong to no other than Nuitari himself.

"Thank you, Shalafi," Dalamar whispered in awe. Taking the book over to the desk, he set it down gingerly. For a moment, Dalamar could only look at the book, shocked at the honor his god had given him. Then, he gingerly found the elaborate place marker that Nuitari had promised, and he opened the book, careful not to look at any of the other spells. Dalamar did not doubt that there were powerful wards on the entire book, and had the feeling that should he look at any spell save the one he was promised, going mad would be a gentle punishment.

Stepping back as the book opened, Dalamar cautiously looked down to make sure he had the correct page. He sighed in relief at seeing the tastefully detailed onyx marker that Nuitari had left. The left page was blank, and on the right was a spell that spanned half the page. It was headed by ornate calligraphy in Common: "_For The Joining Of A Soul With A Proper Receptacle_."

Only an hour or so later, Dalamar had finished deciphering the spell. As Nuitari had promised it was much simpler, as well as more concise, than the one that Fistandantilus had crafted. With an exhausted by satisfied sigh, Dalamar sat back, rubbing his eyes. As soon as it was obvious that Dalamar was finished learning the spell and copying it onto a bit of lambskin, the ebon book disappeared. Dalamar glanced at the space where Nuitari's book had lain, not surprised in the least that the dark god wanted even more assurances that his servant would take no other spells.

Once again, a knock interrupted the dark mage's thoughts. Praying to Nuitari that it was not Fie come to inform him that he had finished learning the _entire_ spellbook, Dalamar strode over to the door.

"Shalafi!" Dalamar thought that he had never been so glad to see Raistlin in his life. "Do you require something of me, sir?"

Raistlin glared as though he thought that Dalamar was making a comment about his lack of magic. "Though I may not still have my powers, Apprentice, I can still make myself useful." He invited himself into the room, taking over Dalamar's chair. The elf took a seat on the hard bed.

"I have been doing research in the Great Library." He seemed to think that this should cause some sort of significant effect on Dalamar. He was disappointed to see that the dark elf seemed merely confused. "Research on Chaos, you imbecile. I see now that time has, if possible, dulled your wits." He glanced scathingly at his former apprentice, just blinked wearily.

"Forgive me, Shalafi. I have been deciphering a lengthy spell. What have you learned about Chaos?" Dalamar had learned from experience that the best way to evade Raistlin's annoyance was to redirect his thoughts to whatever problem was at hand.

As usual, it worked. Raistlin's facial expression turned smug. "I have discovered how Chaos can be defeated." He waited until he saw that his proclamation had sunken into Dalamar's work-wearied mind. At his former apprentice's eventual look of surprise and hope, he continued. "I'm sure that you remember that a singular object known as the Greygem is currently in the possession of our precocious friend Fie? It was the cage with which Reorx had imprisoned Chaos at the beginning of the world."

Dalamar looked at Raistlin blankly, wondering what a god's action of thousands of years passed could have to do with their plight. Raistlin rolled his odd eyes with the expression of the long-suffering. "It is my opinion that we would be able to recapture Chaos with the Greygem. All we would need is a drop of his blood to be caught within the empty halves of the jewel."

Dalamar grunted in disbelief. "Oh, is that _all_? Then defeating him won't be hard in the least." Dalamar's voice was sarcastic. "Even if we could manage for someone to get close enough to capture Chaos' blood in the Greygem, it would be a suicide mission. Who is stupid enough not to see that immediately?"

Raistlin smiled darkly. "Or desperate enough to see it and not care?"

Stygia shifted uncomfortably on the roof of one of the buildings adjacent to the Library. She was bored. Would Chaos' forces _ever_ attack? It seemed that she had been waiting for hours and hours and hours and _hours_! If this was what a war was like, the black dragon decided that, for the future, she would stay away from them at all costs.

There wasn't even anyone interesting for Stygia to talk to! The chromatic dragons who had riders were conferring with their partners about everything from their saddles to their stomachs. Many of the ones who were alone, as was Stygia, had decided to go to sleep, but the young dragon was much too restless for that. Several of the older dragons were awake, but they had told Stygia that she was an annoying youngster and needed to calm down.

Of course, there were some young metallic dragons around, but Stygia didn't think that she could go talk to them. Of course, she didn't see any reason why they couldn't be friends, but she thought that some of the older metallics might take offense. Stygia thumped her tail against the roof of the building, making it shake slightly. She supposed that she could destroy some buildings, but what fun was it when there were no screaming mortals around to protest? Stupid mortals, never around when they were needed…

Finally, Stygia resigned herself to another hour of flawless mumblety-peg playing with the claws of the opposite hand. Just as she was getting up to the proper speed, a fell noise distracted her and she slashed her hand for the first time since the day she'd learned the game. Giving no mind to her bloody claws, the young dragon looked about in alarm, attempting to spot the origin of the noise.

It did not take her long to find the offending being. Chaos was finally attacking, and his dragons were trumpeting their cries of anger. Stygia gave her own shriek to answer the challenge, a noise that was soon picked up by the rest of the dragons. The battle had begun!

Dalamar was alone in his room once more, and had just finished memorizing his spells when he heard the clarion calls of angry dragons. The dark elf leapt to his feet, all weariness forgotten as he hurried towards the battle that was raging outside. Once outside, he found that the high-ranking members of the Conclave who had been in attendance earlier had been joined by other mages of power, as well as some middling magic users.

Unfortunately, it was not only the mages who had multiplied in number. While Chaos himself did not appear to be present, his minions had once again swarmed the streets adjacent to the Great Library. Shadow-wights, hellhounds, and Chaos' dragons were attacking in numbers a thousand-fold of the menace of the day previous. There were also myriad other creatures, most so strange that even Astinus had no names for them. All seemed to be of the same flawless substance that had made the first wave so utterly indestructible.

Dalamar quickly walked over to the group of mages, assessing the situation that was brewing behind the already-erected shields with a calm eye. Upon reaching the other members of the Conclave, Dalamar found that Raistlin was in the center of the edgy-looking group.

"Cast your magic only when the enemy is attacking. If you manage to hit them at the moment they release their power, there is a chance, a _chance_ that you could succeed in destroying one of the creatures. Of course, as this would require immense dexterity and talent, or immense luck, so I highly doubt that you will be successful." Raistlin shrugged, apparently not caring that a couple of the other mages appeared ready to unleash their spells on him.

"Ah, Apprentice." Raistlin walked through the crowd, parting it easily. "Finally, someone around here with half of a brain. I trust that _you_, at least, have prepared appropriate spells?" Raistlin glanced scathingly back at the other mages, particularly at the White Robes.

"Yes, Shalafi." Dalamar bowed. After having Raistlin back for several months, it did not seem at all strange to the dark elf that they should resume their former master and apprentice relationship, even if Raistlin were no longer formally teaching him. "I believe that I am more prepared for Chaos' troops."

Indeed, Dalamar had worked that afternoon to learn several new spells from Fistandantilus' spellbook in addition to the one granted to him by Nuitari. He selected several different spells that operated in a similar manner to the one his daughter had used against Arash. Hopefully, he would be able to utilize them in a similar manner, though with not such fatal results.

With a grimace, Dalamar realized that Fie had also just walked out into the courtyard, which was dimly lit with the fey light of Chaos' minions, as well a glow emitted by a couple of the shielding spells. The boy looked around, appraising the situation outside of the walls of the shields. He smiled as one of the lurid dragons began to belch flames at the shields surrounding the library. Muttering quietly, the boy tossed a pinch of dried herbs in the general direction of the dragon. The dragon seemed to swell, and all of a sudden, it burst into millions of pieces. The pieces fell to the ground, and appeared to burn all of the Chaos creatures that they touched. Dalamar recognized the spell as a variation on one that he had learned after studying for three years with Raistlin.

Fie laughed with glee. "Isn't it beautiful?" The assembled members of the Conclave flinched at the young magus' excitement. Raistlin appeared proud, or perhaps he was merely pensive.

"It would surprise me greatly if any of you could do as much." Raistlin's tone indicated the assembled mages of the Conclave. "Now, I leave you to your bumbling." The former archmagus bowed mockingly and left for the Great Library, presumably to study more.

Dalamar returned his attention to the activity outside of the shields. The creatures of Chaos seemed to have recovered from the side effects of Fie's curse. Now, the more bestial of the creatures circled the web of shields like carrion eaters, knowing that a host of mortals were about to die beyond the annoying barriers.

All of a sudden, the creatures of Chaos drew back. Dalamar swallowed, knowing what their withdrawal must herald. As he'd predicted, Chaos was soon visible, at a height with many of the buildings on the main street. His distended limbs and pulsating flesh sickened many of the assembled groups. Hearing an odd noise, Dalamar looked over and was amused to see a young White Robe retching.

Suddenly, the impasse was broken as Chaos, now in control of the full range of his powers, swept aside the mortals' pitiful attempts at shields. The newly arrived mages who had not witnessed the much weaker Arash do the same gasped in horror. The soldiers, tightly packed into the small courtyard showed no emotions other than readying their lances.

For a moment, the two sides simply stared at each other, neither seeming to know quite what to do now that the shields had been destroyed.

Then, the world dissolved into mayhem…

…Knights, lances flashing, being mown down as the creatures they were attacking showed no sign of injury after being skewered…

…Mages, not having been warned about the deadly effects of the shadow-wights, trapped in the horrific throes of despair…

…Dragons wheeling confused in the sky, injured by enemies that seemed to materialize from nowhere and disappear after attacking…

…Above it all, Chaos, laughing as his minions destroyed the denizens of his children's world, one by one.

Dalamar shook himself out of the mental fog that set in upon the attack of Chaos. He could not afford to lose any moment in pointless thought. The dark elf looked around quickly, forcing his tired brain to appraise the situation logically and attempt to find a vantage point.

No sooner had the thought materialized in his head did Stygia emerge from the clouds of gas and soot that had quickly formed in the sky. Not stopping to greet her, Dalamar made his sluggish muscles move as he jumped on her back.

As he cast a curse on a shadow-wight that was extending its power to entrap one of the soldiers, Dalamar had an idea. "Are there other dragons who do not have riders?" He had to scream for Stygia to hear him above the din.

Twisting and turning nimbly in the air to avoid debris and other dragons, Stygia turned to him. "Yes. Most of us did not have human companions. I cannot speak for the Platinum Dragon's servants, but those of us aligned with Her Dark Majesty came alone." She paused for an instant, and a grin formed on her reptilian features as she realized Dalamar's plan. Still spinning in the air, Stygia let forth a trumpeting shriek.

Quickly, Dalamar cast a spell to amplify his own voice. "To me, mages!" Quickly, the mages of the Red Moon and the Unseen Moon hurried towards the cry, and were met with chromatic dragons. It was not long until the White Robes abandoned their pride for the greater good and rushed towards the Evil dragons as well. Noting their cousins' missions, the dragons of Paladine made sure that no mage was left without a mount.

Shouting to each other over the din of the battle, a group of Red Robes, including Jenna and her father, broke off from the main host, deciding to focus on the attacking dragons. Many of the White Robes also departed, choosing to attempt to protect the soldiers from the onslaught of fey creatures that they were uselessly attacking.

Stygia took Dalamar back through the murky cloud that hovered above the battlegrounds. In front of the door of the Library stood Fie, a shield at his back to prevent the enemy from entering the ancient halls. Seemingly tireless, the apprentice mage cast spells as quickly as a master, each one hitting a target and causing destruction. Dalamar shook his head at the display of sheer power, but put that worrying thought out of his mind for another time. Namely, a time when he was not facing a head-on attack from a flying servant of Chaos.

Dalamar quickly searched his arsenal of spells for something that could be of use as Stygia held the attacker at bay with her fiery breath. Sensing that Dalamar was ready, Stygia allowed the thing to get a bit closer. As it approached, the dark elf began his spell. Finally, the expected attack came as the thing released a jet of Chaos-essence through a claw on the end of one of its fin-like appendages. At the moment the power was released, Dalamar also released his spell. Stygia swerved out of danger at the last second, allowing Dalamar as much time to aim as was possible. As the bolt of Chaos essence seared the air above Dalamar's head, the thing was engulfed in a ball of flame.

Dalamar laughed, but he convinced himself that it was because of the heady feeling of flight, not a joy in destruction.

"Damn it." Tanis cursed to himself as he swung the sword of Kith Kanan around, desperately trying to stem the tide of fell creatures that were decimating his army. It seemed as though he were the only one who could do anything against the beasts. They seemed to be completely impervious to the sharp steel blades that worked so well when the soldiers had been fighting some of the very dragons that they were now allied with.

Finally, the half-elf heard a cry of triumph from his second, a Solamnic knight named Torick Swiftsteel.

"Sir!" Torrick's victorious call carried over the short distance to where Tanis was attempting to defeat the forces of Chaos single-handedly. "If they're knocked out already by the time we get to them, they can be killed!" Tanis felt his heart lift as he heard the joyous news.

"Men!" Now it was Tanis attempting to be heard over the chaos of the battle. "Try to find creatures already downed by the mages!" The half-elf impaled a hellhound that had been leaping at him, killing it with the innate magic of his sword.

The battle had been raging for several hours, and Tanis' muscles were beginning to protest. _I'm getting old_, the half-elf thought wryly. During the War of the Lance, Tanis had known no such fatigue. He could not rest, though. Too much rested on him. If he fell, it was likely that the rest of his troops would fall as well. And the mages needed to rest, so who knew how long they could last against a tireless foe?

No, should he stop fighting, Chaos could win the battle. If Palanthas fell, the rest of Ansalon would not be far behind. How could he allow that to happen to his close friends Caramon and Tika, still living in their hometown of Solace? What would happen to the carefree kender? Though the elven fighters were fierce, there was too much strife between the Silvanesti and the Qualinesti still, and both forests would likely fall in short order.

The elves… That train of thought brought Tanis to his most important reason for fighting on. His family. His lovely Laurana, the elven princess who was the light of his life. The beautiful, strong woman who did not seem to age a day as he got older and older. Their son, Gilthas. How could Tanis let them down? He knew that he could not face them in the realms of the dead if he did not fight now with all of his might, until the end.

Bellowing with renewed vigor, Tanis leapt towards a group of his men who were futilely attempting to overcome a pack of hellhounds. Yelling a wordless cry, the half-elven commander beheaded one of the vile creatures that was attempting to feast on the body of one of the men. While Tanis was still alive, he would remain in the battle with his men. Men with their own families. It was not himself Tanis was fighting for, or even his home. It was the children.

It did not take long for the minutes to blur into hours for Dalamar. It seemed as though life had never contained anything for the dark elf save dodging, wheeling, and casting spells. Stygia cast some of her spells as well, letting the mage on her back recover between his own. It seemed that no matter how many beings were destroyed by Dalamar, Fie, and the other mages of the Conclave, an endless stream of the demons continued their deadly barrage.

Dalamar suddenly heard a great cry from where the soldiers were fighting. Looking first towards the mages, he saw that, though their numbers were diminished, Dunbar Mastermate was still leading the charge towards the unyielding host of Chaos. As Dalamar turned his gaze downwards, he suddenly realized what the problem was. Though he was hundreds of feet away from the area, the dark elf could still make out the body that lay on the ground of the courtyard, unmoving.

Tanis Halfelven, one of the few non-magicusers who had ever shown Dalamar kindness, was slain. Around his body was a sizeable puddle of Chaos essence. Seemingly, he had been able to destroy some of the creatures with a sword that held the power of the gods of Good. Only one of the creatures that had originally attacked the Hero of the Lance had survived – a hellhound that now fed on the prone body.

While the creature was feeding and had its attention and strength fixed elsewhere, Dalamar shot a curse out of the sky, killing it immediately. The soldiers, who had been standing in shock around their commander's body, seemed to remember their cause. Torick Swiftsteel, Tanis' second in command, took up the sword of Kith Kanan and, screaming a Solamnic war cry, threw himself back into the fray with renewed vigor. The rest of the soldiers followed, honoring their fallen general's valor by continuing the fight.

Seeing that the problem with the ground forces had been resolved, Dalamar turned his attention back on the battle.

Jenna and her father, both mounted on fearsome red dragons, flew through the air next to each other. Facing in opposite directions, they had an unspoken agreement to watch each other's backs. Though the dragons frequently had to dodge to avoid the Chaos creatures, the two always returned to their original protective formation. The young red robed woman screamed in anger as one of her comrades, a man who had been her lover before she met Dalamar, was plucked off of his dragon's back by one of the Chaotic dragons. The dragon disappeared, happily munching its prey, before Jenna could destroy it.

"Look out!" Jenna ducked low automatically at the call from her father. Over her head shot a fireball spell which quickly engulfed one of the flying demons that was in Chaos' power. She had no time to thank her father as she herself shot a spell at an enemy dragon.

Jenna had only been a child during the famed War of the Lance, and this was her first battle. Though she was not as bad off as some of the other mages, Jenna felt sick to her stomach at the carnage that surrounded them. She supposed she was lucky; her foes were truly indisputably evil, and so far removed from human that their murder seemed a lesser crime.

To Jenna, the worst part of the battle was seeing those around her fall to the forces of Chaos. These were people who she had known for years, many since childhood. As her father was a longtime member of the Conclave, Jenna had grown up at Wayreth and knew most of the red robes, as well as a good number of the other mages. Now these people, her family, were being killed as though they were defenseless mice attempting to fight the hawks that preyed upon them.

The part of her brain that was abstracted from the battle knew that she would be devastated by their deaths eventually, but for now, all of the carnage simply served to make Jenna even more furious at the forces of Chaos who were trying to destroy her world. While she could do nothing to save those who had already been slain in defense of their homes and their families, she could try to keep the others safe. She shot a spell past one of the younger members of her order, obliterating the winged attacker that the young man had not seen in time.

Frantically, Jenna's dragon dove and swerved, attempting to keep her rider out of harm's way. Because of this, it was not until it was too late that Jenna noticed a Chaotic dragon hurling out of the dusky fog towards the space at her father's side that she had just vacated.

"Look out!" Jenna shrieked, searching her mind for a spell. However, she panicked at the sight of the fearsome creature whizzing towards the person she loved most in the world, and the words of all of her spells jumbled like a puzzle in her mind. Screaming warnings ineffectually, Jenna could do nothing as the fell dragon scooped her father out from his saddle.

Jenna's arms grew numb, and she felt as though she'd completely lost control of her body. She couldn't even scream any more. In mute horror, the red robe watched as the dragon tore apart her father and allowed the pieces to fall to the ground. How could this happen? How could the man that she had looked up to for her whole life suddenly be gone? Frantic, Jenna began to hyperventilate.

Finally, her shock was broken as the red dragon she was riding swerved to insure that her own rider wouldn't be plucked away from above as well. Realizing that she had been putting her own life at stake, as well as the lives of all of the other mages surrounding her, Jenna managed to pull through her haze of pain. With renewed vigor and purpose, she threw herself into the battle, determined to let no more red robes die.

The normal stupor that set on the warriors due to the fighting was even greater because of the deep cloud of night that covered the whole battle ground. None of the fighters realized how much time had passed, until the first rays of sunlight began to pierce through the haze and ash that shadowed the Library. As those first rays of light began to grace the world, many of the fighters thanked whichever god they worshipped that the sun still existed.

"Sir!" The frantic cry made Dalamar turn around. A young red robe mounted on a Blue dragon was riding in quickly. The mage was blinking in weariness, held in his saddle much more by the protective straps than by his own volition. "Lady Jenna… She needs help…" Stygia shot a tongue of flame at one of Chaos' beasts over the shoulder of the Blue.

"Her father… He was killed a few hours ago. She's been doing the work of two mages ever since. We're worried…" The young mage was cut off as his dragon suddenly swerved, slashing at another flying thing that was endeavoring to catch the mages unawares. The young man gasped as his dragon righted itself. "We're worried she'll kill herself in the effort. Can you do anything?"

The sudden realization that he had been fighting for twelve hours, and awake and working for even longer hit Dalamar like a ton of bricks. Now that the reverie of the battle was broken, the dark elf realized how close he himself had come to death through magic. He nodded to the Red Robe, only iron will insuring that the exhaustion consuming him did not become apparent on his face.

Stygia wheeled, turning back from the fray. She brought him to where the main host of Chaotic dragons was fighting. Many Red Robes surrounded the circling beings of Chaos, but their numbers where greatly diminished from that which had existed in the beginning. Leading the charge was Jenna, diminished to only the most basic of spells. These spells she used with ingenuity, however, still managing to cripple the enemy, if no longer able to actually destroy it.

"Jenna!" Dalamar yelled over the din. He and Stygia flew closer, hoping to attract her attention. "Jenna! You must rest!"

Lunitari's servant turned, glaring at the person who dared bother her. "Why?" Her voice was harsh and strained.

"You are going to kill yourself. You need time to rest and time to memorize your spells again. Come back to the Library." By this time, Dalamar himself was battling his exhaustion actively, barely able to remain consciousness.

"I can't leave them. If I leave the battle they will all die." Jenna's eyes were wild, her voice slightly hysterical. She shot a basic sleep spell at an attacking dragon, and it fell to the ground, prone.

"You do no good here. If you go to rest, you can rejoin the fray in hours, strong once more. If you stay, you will be killed, and then the forces of Krynn will be weakened permanently. If it will make you feel better, we can contact the remaining members of the Conclave, and see that replacements come." Turning, Dalamar managed to destroy another dragon. He quickly went through his mental catalogue of spells, and found that he too would have to resort to basic spells not meant for real battle soon as well.

Jenna looked as though she were about to argue again, but realized that arguing was possibly the worst thing that could be done in the middle of the battle. She nodded and broke away from the fray towards the Library. Even her immense red dragon seemed tired as it sluggishly swerved to avoid the other combatants. Jenna cast a last longing glance at the battle, obviously wanting to keep fighting despite her physical and mental weaknesses.

The two mages dismounted from their respective dragons when they reached the relative safety of the courtyard in front of the Library. Guarding the door was Fie, seemingly unaffected by the hours of spellcasting.

"You need to rest as well." Dalamar was too tired to bother being nice to the arrogant young man.

"I'm fine." Fie shrugged, throwing a sleep spell at an attacking creature so that the ground forces could kill it. "I don't need to rest. I still have enough spells."

Dalamar seethed, his normal calm façade impeded by his overwhelming weariness. "You will rest. I will not have Krynn sacrificed because of your hubris. Wars have been lost in the past because of mages who refused to rest and relearn their spells. That will not happen in this battle so long as I still have breath in my body."

Fie shook his head, annoyed by the intrusion. "Fine. But, if the war is lost while I'm resting, it will be on your head." The three gratefully surrendered to the cool twilight of the Library.

"We all need rest, but before we can, there is something else that needs to be done. Do you know anything about communication spells, Fie?" Dalamar knew that it would be lunacy for any but the strongest of mages to attempt to communicate with Wayreth after a prolonged fight. Much as he would've liked to avoid asking the human teen for anything, Dalamar decided that much more was at stake than his pride.

"Yes." Fie was obviously still annoyed at the elf for making him agree to rest.

Jenna realized what Dalamar needed, and decided to intervene before the testosterone levels in the Library got even higher. "Its all right, Dalamar. I'm sure that Fie is weary after casting so many spells. I can contact Wayreth." She'd dealt with enough adolescents to realize the best course of action.

"I can do it!" As she's predicted, Fie's anger was channeled away from Dalamar himself, and onto the adult world at large for underestimating him. "What do you want me to ask them?"

"Tell them that we need relief forces, because we have all been fighting for over half a day. When you've finished, if you do not wish to sleep, at least study your spells." Dalamar stopped any further arguments by heading towards his own quarters, too tired to do anything save sleep.

Dalamar was awakened a little while after midday by Raistlin. Despite the short duration of his rest, the dark elf felt completely refreshed. "It is done, Apprentice."

Though awake, Dalamar was not yet alert. "What is done, Shalafi?"

Raistlin rolled his eyes. "Our plan. It has been carried out. I have found one willing to bear the Greygem, and to attack when the time is right. I have already given said stone to the sacrifice."

Dalamar was relieved. "I am glad that she was willing. Now, Sir, if you will excuse me, I have much studying to do before I will be ready to fight the forces of Chaos again." Raistlin nodded, and left his old apprentice in order to go in search of his new one.

Upon finding the young man, Raistlin pulled a small book of a night blue binding out of the depths of his robes. "There is a spell in this book that I believe you will find useful. You should have the capability to read it. I have marked the page. Do not attempt any of the other spells that lie within these pages, however. They are all spells of power that should only be used by a true master. Were times not this dire, I would not have even allowed you to see the one I mentioned. Return the book to me once the battle is over."

Fie nodded, eyeing the book greedily. "Yes, Master."

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Several hours later, Dalamar, Jenna, Fie, and all of the other mages and soldiers who had found solace within the Library overnight, were ready for battle once more. Because of the Library's innate magic, the night had been quiet within, and there had been plenty of food waiting at all hours for hungry soldiers.

"We will not have much time to spend fighting today." Dalamar's statement brought gasps from his companions. "Time grows short for my daughter," he explained. "We will need our rest tonight so that we may spend the day tomorrow preparing for and casting the spell." His voice was grim.

"You are going to go through with this?" Jenna sounded incredulous.

"I am sorry." Dalamar's sad eyes told his lover how much he wished that, for her sake, something could be done about her father. "The gods of magic told me that they are making an exception, because Catherine was not supposed to die. They were quite firm, however, that it was merely an exception."

Jenna nodded, not trusting herself to speak. "You will need our help?" She hoped that by throwing herself into her work, she could dull the pain, at least until she had time to deal with it.

"Yes. This spell requires many to work it, though only one needs to have actually learned the spell. Many are needed to channel the power. I believe that I will also need the aid of Dunbar, and the most talented Red Robe you can think of, besides yourself, of course."

Jenna acknowledged his request, thinking about who could be trusted. "Why no one else from the Black Robes?" Fie sounded as though he felt slighted.

"To my understanding, a balanced group of mages is the best way for the spell to be carried out. I believe that six will be strong enough. Though you have not yet been Tested, you will be strong enough to aid me in representing the Black Robes. Par-Salian will suffice as the second White Robe."

They reached the entrance to the Library. Jenna gasped in horror. The day had not gone well for the defenders so far. As most of the strongest mages had been working throughout the night, the daytime shift did not have the power to hold of the inexorable tide of Chaos. Any slight advantage that may have been gained for the people of Krynn overnight had been lost again a hundred times over when the relief corps had arrived.

"We must not fight much past sundown. Our full strength will be needed tomorrow," said Dalamar, not allowing any remorse at leaving the battlefield to enter his voice. The other two nodded grimly.

As Fie and Jenna took their places once more on the battlefield, Dalamar attempted to find Dunbar. Luckily, Stygia was able to find the golden dragon procured by the head of the White Robes amid the ash that had only gotten darker as the battle raged. Through Stygia, Dalamar managed to get Dunbar onto the ground again, in the entrance hall in the Library.

"Dunbar, I will need your assistance tomorrow. I have a spell to cast, one that is crucial to the future of Krynn. It is too powerful for me to handle alone, however."

"What kind of spell?" Though Dunbar was, by nature, relatively trusting, he could not help but be suspicious of such a nebulous request for help by someone who was his complete opposite in theology. "When is it being cast?"

Dalamar chose to ignore the mage's first question. "It will be cast tomorrow, in the afternoon. Preparations, however, will begin in the morning. As I'd said before, it is a spell of immense power, so you will need your rest. It is crucial to the fate of Krynn; I swear by all of the gods of magic."

Though Dunbar was still wary, he knew as well as any that the gods of magic would strike down any who dared use their name without due cause. He nodded. "I will make sure to have a relief fighter ready so that I can sleep tonight and accompany you in the morning."

"Thank you." Dalamar gave a slight, graceful bow in acknowledgement. "The casting will take place at Master Par-Salian's manor." The dark elf looked up, and seemed to notice for the first time the havoc outside. "We must get back to the battle before any more time is wasted."

For the next several hours, Dalamar was plunged back into desperate battle. If anything, it seemed as though Chaos' forces had increased and strengthened from the past day.

Fie was glad that he was fighting again. He didn't like killing things. No, that wasn't why. What he loved was the feeling of magic flooding his veins, flooding his brain, flooding his very being. The feeling was intoxicating to say the least.

Fie laughed in delight as he cast another spell at the creatures that threatened to overtake the Library. How had he ever been able to live without the magic? Even as he had gone to sleep that morning, completely tired from his efforts of the night prior, he felt as though he were missing something that was crucial to his being. Now, that feeling was rectified. Once more, the magic was his.

As he cast some of the horrific spells that he had learned a few short days before, Fie allowed himself to be completely engulfed in the magic. According to Raistlin, this was the way to become a true master. As he allowed spell after spell to sweep through his mind into his veins, and then into the enemy, he wondered why more mages did not give themselves so completely to the magic. True, there was a risk in such complete surrender, but Fie could imagine nothing that was more worth it.

Finally, the battleground darkened, indicating that night had fallen outside of the twilight that engulfed the area surrounding the Library. It seemed to Dalamar that it would be as good a time as ever to break for the night and go to sleep.

With Stygia's aid, the evil mage found Dunbar and Jenna, and motioned that they had best have their rest as well. The two's dragons wheeled with much reluctance towards the Library once more. When they landed, Dalamar found that a young Red Robe had followed Jenna. Dalamar nodded at the young woman, not feeling that there was any need for words.

"Fie. It is time to go in." Dalamar hoped that he would not have to deal with adolescent pride once more.

"Just one more spell. To even the odds." Fie smiled mysteriously. Dalamar, on the other hand, simply rolled his eyes. If there were actually a spell in existence that could even the odds facing the mortals of Krynn, _he_ had surely never seen it.

Dalamar decided to indulge the young man his last fireball, if it would prevent further conflict. At the present, the most important thing was for Catherine to be given back her life, not to play "Best Mage."

Slowly, Fie began chanting. At first, Dalamar thought that the frequent pauses were due to insecurity in Fie's knowledge of the spell, but as he listened, he realized that it was the cadence of the spell. Despite himself, the dark elf was impressed. It was usually only spells of a very complicated nature that had a rhythm as well as a pattern of words to memorize.

Soon, Fie began to dance to the rhythm of the spell he wove, scattering components of an unknown nature in a geometric fashion around himself. As the spell progressed, Fie's passage, as well as his chanting, grew swifter. After a few more minutes that left the observers breathless, Fie had finished his masterpiece. The components that he had scattered in the dance now formed a complex pattern of lines and whorls at the door in front of the Library.

Fie took a deep breath, and then whispered a word of power. For a moment, the world seemed to constrict and swirl. A booming noise filled everyone's minds, completely bypassing their ears. Finally, Fie was thrust out of the pattern he had created, and a whirlwind erupted where he had been.

Within seconds, the whirlwind reached out, as though it were a hand. From the sky, it plucked one of Chaos' dragons. The dragon was sucked down quickly into the relentless pool, and disappeared before it hit the design. Presumably, it was being transported to some netherworld where Chaos did not rule.

Dalamar, Jenna, Dunbar, and the other Red Robe could only watch in mute astonishment as one after another, the whirlwind sucked up more and more of the creatures of Chaos. Soon, the other fighters noticed that something had changed, and they were gaping as well. Fie simply smirked, admiring his handiwork.

Leaving the whirlwind to wreak destruction on its own, he turned to his companions. "_Now_ I am ready to retire for the night. It'll wear out in a quarter of an hour or so." He gestured nonchalantly towards the Library door, "If you've finished?"


	15. Like The Color of My Skin

**Disclaimer:** I was just borrowing it… Honest… I really was about to put them back…

**A/N:** Wow, second to last chapter. Amazing. Okay, I just want to take a moment to make a few announcements that I don't feel like leaving until the next chapter. There is only going to be one more chapter, but there will be updates after that. This is because I had an epiphany that since the beginning of the story, my writing style has changed immensely. Because of this, the first half (at least!) will be going through a total makeover. There are only going to be two things that change that will be important to the plot. First of all, I am making Kit and Fie each a year older. Thus, she will be in 11th grade, and he in 12th. This is just for something I want to set up for in the sequel. The other major change is that I will be setting up Fie's change in character in the last few chapters a lot better. Otherwise, there will be major changes in the way it is written, but very few in actual content. Also, I am now in college, and I am not sure how much time I'll have for fanfic. I may fall behind, especially in reading. I'm sorry! Okay, that's it in the way of announcements. I'd just like to thank my amazing beta, Valgorúth, who has some awesome stuff written in the LoTR section. (Hint, hint…) Now, enough babbling. Please review!

**Like The Color of My Skin or the Day That I Grow Old**

The next day, Dalamar, Raistlin, and Fie rose early. Dalamar knew that getting Par-Salian to consent to their plot would take time. When they emerged into the dimly lit day, Fie was gratified to see that his powerful spell of the night before had actually done its job. The forces of Chaos seemed to be reduced, though not significantly. Most importantly, the troops had been heartened by the success of the young mage, and were fighting with new strength.

Once in the courtyard, Fie waved to a small white dragon that he had befriended the day before. The white, Snowfire, had agreed to convey the young man to Par-Salian's manor for the day. They took off quickly, not bothering to wait for their compatriots.

Stygia seemed to have been watching for the group to arrive, and swooped out of the air with a beautiful, but unnecessary, display of acrobatics. "Good morning, mage!" She sounded ecstatic in anticipation of the day's events.

As always, Dalamar bowed to her as befitted a mere mortal to a dragon. "Good day, my lady. Before we set off, I had a request to ask of you." At Stygia's pleased nod of acknowledgement, Dalamar continued. "Would it be possible for you to also carry my Shalafi, Raistlin Majere to Par-Salian's mansion this morning?"

"Of course." Stygia looked slightly offended at the implication that she might not have the strength to carry a second passenger after several days of hard fighting. Her attention quickly turned to Raistlin though. "You look … different than the others." She raised her claw, but quickly put it back down as she observed the glower on Raistlin's face. It seemed as though she were resisting the urge to poke the golden mage to see if he felt like a normal mortal.

"Oh!" A thought seemed to suddenly occur to Stygia. "You're _that_ Raistlin Majere, aren't you!" She kneaded the ground, embarrassed at her wish to poke the feared archmagus.

If Raistlin noticed the dragon's discomfort, he gave no sign of it. "My lady, I am honored to be your passenger."

Stygia's eyes glowed with pleasure. "Now, get on, you two. We have Good mages to fry!"

"Wait for me!" A cry came from the doorway, and all three looked in that direction. An extremely odd sight greeted them. Evelynn was running towards the dragon, encumbered by what appeared to be the remains of some poor soldier's armor. She had put it on as best she could, and was attempting to carry a sword as well.

The ancient elf was panting as she reached Stygia. "Let me come with you. There must be something I can do to help!"

Dalamar was about to say something, but stopped as Raistlin put a quelling hand on his shoulder. "Lady Evelynn, we have already discussed the most important thing you can do to help. You must stay behind." Evelynn's face fell, but she nodded resignedly.

"I will do all that I can to help my people. You can depend upon it."

* * *

After only a few hours, the two dragons were able to find Wayreth. They landed quickly in front of Par-Salian's house.

"He fixed it!" Stygia sounded heartbroken at the thought that her 'improvement' on the large manor had been rectified. "Well, I don't like the design of the new door. Humans should get more air anyway. Maybe they'd live longer that way." So musing to herself, Stygia took a deep breath and merrily spat it out again in the form of fire. Once more, Par-Salian's door was no more.

A flabbergasted Valgorúth came to the door. "Why did you do that? Master Par-Salian was already expecting you, and told me to allow you in!" Dalamar smirked. Apparently, he was not the only apprentice who had to clean up messes that were not of his making.

"My apologies, Valgorúth. Stygia decided that she did not approve of the style. If Par-Salian is ready?"

The young elf bowed stiffly. He obviously still had problems coming to terms with the fact that his Shalafi would willingly speak to a dark elf and his companions.

After only a moment, Par-Salian appeared in the space that used to be occupied by his door. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"It was ugly…" Stygia shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably.

"I had informed you that I would be returning for the body of my daughter." Dalamar decided that, much as he respected the young dragon, harping on the subject of the door would not be conducive to their plan. "And I had informed you that you were to aid me with a spell. I have come to exact both of those conditions." Gracefully, Dalamar leapt from Stygia's back onto the ground. Raistlin used power of the Staff of Magius to dismount. Fie was left to clamber off of Snowfire's back as best he could.

"Why are there others with you?" Par-Salian demanded. Then, he recognized the Staff. The old man visibly reeled with the shock. "It can't be…" he said softly. It seemed as though his own staff, a functional creation of rough-hewn wood, was the only thing keeping him upright.

Raistlin allowed the cowl of his robe to fall back. "Oh, but it can." He smiled cynically as Par-Salian seemed to crumple with surprise and fear. "Don't die for my sake though, old man. The gods did not see fit to allow my magic to join me again in the world of the living. I am here for the simple reason that I volunteered to oversee my apprentice's … experiment." His cruel smirk dared Par-Salian to question his words, a dare that was left unanswered.

"Bring me to my daughter." Dalamar wished to waste no more time. He hoped to have finished cowing the former leader of the White Robes into obedience before he went to work on the current.

Par-Salian, still too shocked to speak, mutely led the way into his manor. The three black-robed mages followed behind. After a few minutes of slowly traversing the manor's winding hallways, Par-Salian stopped at a doorway and took a simple key out of one of his pouches.

"She rests here. I spelled the room so that no outside influences would hurry the decay." If the aged human had been hoping for some form of thanks from any of the assembled mages, he was disappointed as they looked on apathetically. Without further ado, Par-Salian opened the doorway.

Fie and Raistlin respectfully stayed behind as Dalamar entered the room containing the corpse of his daughter. He approached the bed upon which she had been placed slowly, and was glad to see that no sign of time had reached her body, aside from the natural lengthening of hair and nails that always occurred when the body did not yet realize that the soul was departing. The dark elf nodded, as satisfied as any man could be when examining the cold body of his child.

Expressionlessly, he picked up the frail, youthful body and turned back to the mages in the doorway. "We will need a large room. The largest that you have, and cleared of all obstructions." Valgorúth ran off to see that his dark brother's wishes were carried out, not wanting to know what the other elf was planning.

Par-Salian, however, had no such scruples. "What is the meaning of this? What sort of experiment is it that you're planning that needs the assistance of two other mages, a corpse, and a lot of space?" The old man had apparently gotten over the shock of seeing Raistlin alive once more.

"Actually," A small smirk played upon Dalamar's lips. "I will need five other mages to assist me. The others will be arriving later. As to the sort of experiment, it will hopefully be the sort that can rectify nearly twenty years of disaster that were set in motion by none other than the venerated head of the Conclave, Master Par-Salian." Dalamar's voice was calm, as though he were discussing the weather.

Par-Salian stared at Dalamar, attempting to divine the meaning behind the words of the dark elf. "Valgorúth has prepared a room. This way." The elderly man began to walk briskly away from the other mages.

Raistlin traded a cynical look with his two so different, yet similar, apprentices, and followed the former head of the Conclave. Dalamar and Fie were quick to pursue their fellows, the body of Catherine draped over her father's arms.

"Now, Dalamar, tell me rationally, what was all of that about twenty years of evil? You know what happened the last time someone tried to change the past." He glanced meaningfully at Raistlin, who glared back. Finally, it was Par-Salian who had to look away.

"I do not mean to change the past, simply give someone a second chance." The dark elf was smiling mysteriously.

"Second chance…" Par-Salian shooed Valgorúth out of the room as soon as he reached the door. The other mages followed him in, and Dalamar set his daughter's body down in the center of the floor. He took a small mortar and pestle from one of the pouches of his robe, and, kneeling on the floor, began to grind and mix various herbs.

"You don't mean to attempt a spell to give Raistlin back his powers, do you? If that is the case, I will have no part in it." The old man drew himself up, daring Raistlin to comment.

It was Fie who answered, however. "Why would he do that, old man? Dalamar doesn't want his old master back to order him around. He's happy being at the top of the food chain. Is everyone on this world so stupid?" His remarks were biting, and not even the twin glares from Raistlin and Par-Salian could prevent his snide comments.

Attempting to regain what ground Fie might have lost, Dalamar spoke soothingly. "While I would not have put it in quite those terms, Fie speaks truly. I have no intention of attempting to give my Shalafi back the powers that the gods saw fit to remove. If such a spell even exists, I have no knowledge of it."

Dalamar drew a knife out of one of the sleeves of his robes. "I have been given a command by the gods of magic. They instructed me to give a second chance at life to the one of us who is probably the only true innocent, possibly the most maligned."

Par-Salian's eyes grew wide in horror. "Your… daughter?" His voice had reached a frantic pitch. "But… but… necromancy is forbidden! You will be struck down by the gods should you even attempt it. I'm surprised that they have not punished you already for the arrogance of claiming that it was at their command." Having found his place in the righteous anger of the Good, Par-Salian regained his confidence.

Dalamar simply smiled. "Oh, but it was at their behest," the dark elf said wryly. "They _all_ came to me, and told me that it was not their will that she die." Slight laughter entered the evil mage's voice. "In effect, I am actually going to do something for the benefit of mankind, because should she not be saved, the gods have foreseen only doom for all of Krynn. If you still choose to doubt me, know I speak the truth when I say that it is Nuitari's own spell that I shall be using to bring my daughter's soul back to her body."

Par-Salian could only stare in shock, and even Raistlin looked impressed at the thought that Dalamar had been given a spell by the God of the Unseen Moon. "If we are done arguing, perhaps we can start work on the preparations, so that there is some chance of completing the spell by the appointed hour."

It seemed as though Par-Salian wanted to continue arguing against the forbidden magic, but he could only watch in horror as Dalamar curled his wrist towards his forearm to expose the vein, and made a deep cut with his dagger. The dark elf made no sign of feeling pain as he allowed his blood to flow out, pooling brilliantly red among the crushed herbs in the small bowl. With only a couple of inches in the bowl left empty, Dalamar finally staunched the flow of the wound with a strip of bandage as his companions looked on in shock.

The dark elf wavered slightly, unsteady because of the blood loss. He shook his head slightly to clear it, and then lifted his daughter's body slightly so that she rested in a sitting position in his arms. Next, Dalamar made a cut in Catherine's wrist, identical to the one in his. He continued to hold her upright so that the blood would flow out of her still veins into the bowl on the ground where it would mingle with his own blood.

Slowly, slowly, the dark, coagulated blood began to drip from the limp wrist. Dalamar twisted the body of his daughter, attempting to get it into a better position. Finally, the mortar bowl was filled to the brim with the blood of the living and the dead. Suddenly exhausted, Dalamar allowed his daughter's corpse to fall gently to the floor, as he himself fell to the floor in a swoon.

Par-Salian stared in horror at the spread-eagle forms lying prone on his floor. For a moment, he could do nothing save stare in mute shock. Finally, he turned in incredulity to Raistlin. "Is he actually serious?" In his agitation, the old man's voice was unsteady.

"You doubt still?" Raistlin's voice was biting as he took in the gruesome scene before him, emotionless.

"He can't actually mean to go through with it. He can't!" It seemed to Raistlin as thought Par-Salian were attempting to reassure himself.

"Oh, he is quite serious," Raistlin said, a slight mocking tone in his voice. "And were I you, I would not get in his way. People who are in pain can be quite rash."

As his elders were talking, Fie had gone in search of water. While he was not able to find something with which to revive Dalamar, he was able to find Valgorúth. The elven mage reluctantly found a bowl of water, and they walked together to the room in which the spell was to be constructed. When they reached the doorway, Valgorúth gasped.

"What is going on?" The elf sounded vaguely panicked.

"Dalamar is attempting to resurrect Kit." Fie was completely calm, and took the bowl of water out of the frightened White Robe's hands. Fie strode quickly towards the center of the room, and upon reaching the prone body of the Black Robe, he overturned the bowl.

* * *

After a couple of hours, the other mages began to arrive. Dalamar was once again stable, having had something to eat and drink, as well as time to dry off. Valgorúth was barred from the proceedings after he ushered in Jenna, her Red-Robed companion, and Dunbar Mastermate. He looked rather relieved to be ordered away, as though he was worried that necromancy was catching.

When Dunbar saw the large room, he stopped short in his tracks. "What is the meaning of this?" He numbly indicated the scene before him. Since the morning, Dalamar, Fie, and Raistlin had been busy. The blood that had sat in the small bowl was now spread over the floor in precise, intricate geometric patterns. Lying at the center of the design was the body of Catherine, resting on a short, sturdy wooden table several feet longer than the prone form of the half-elf. Several candles of different sizes, shapes, and colors burned around the perimeter of the blood.

Par-Salian merely looked at the young head of the White Robes, a slight ray of hope returning to his eyes.

"We do the will of the gods." Dalamar spoke simply, hoping not to exhaust himself even more with an argument. "It is their command that we give life back to my daughter, from whom it was taken prematurely."

Dunbar was flabbergasted, and appeared to be at a loss for words. Jenna put a gentle hand on his shoulder, showing that the Red Robes approved of the plan. Dunbar looked around at the room; at Par-Salian's resigned look, Jenna's determined expression, her compatriot's eyes widened in slight fear, Dalamar's gaunt, haunted countenance, Fie's expressionless mien, and Raistlin, in shadow as always. Seeing that he would get support from no corner, the dark-skinned man finally nodded.

"I will do as the gods command."

* * *

The six were seated around the corpse, enclosed within the bloody design. Slowly, Dalamar began to murmur the words of a spell. It would connect the mages in rapport, allowing Dalamar to tap into the power of all as he called upon forces never meant for mortals to have access to. As he chanted, he felt the other mages' power connecting to his, one by one.

The last to connect was Fie. When his magic joined Dalamar's, it seemed as though a raging torrent of power had flooded the comparatively tiny river that belonged to Dalamar. For a second, the dark elf reeled in shock. While he had known that the human boy had power beyond anything seen before on Krynn, he had never conceived of the immense scope.

Dalamar's blood ran cold. _So this is why the gods demanded that my daughter be brought back to life,_ he thought to himself. _She is the only one who could have a hope of containing this monster. Perhaps it would be better for Krynn if he died in the casting of this spell._ The black mage was glad that he had such strong mental boundaries to prevent such terrible thoughts from reaching the rest of the assembled group.

Pushing all thoughts of Fie, power, and destruction from his mind, Dalamar called up the words of Nuitari's spell. They shone in his mind, with a brilliance unsurpassed by any spell he had ever encountered previously.

It felt to Dalamar as though he had been chanting forever, and yet for no time, as he allowed the combined power of the six to flow through his soul into the words of the spell. Finally, suddenly, the spell words ground to a halt. Dalamar, along with the other mages of the coven, gasped as what little magic they had remaining disconnected itself from the collective and became theirs alone once more.

As each person recovered, they stared expectantly, fearfully, into the center of the room. For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen. Par-Salian took a breath, about to rant about the waste of magic on an illegal and ineffective spell, when the air caught in the back of his throat.

At the old man's choking breath, the others turned their dejected stares away from the floor. As the six mages looked on in astonishment, a stain appeared on the dark robes of the body on the low table. It began to spread slowly, and then clarify from dark to the bright red of fresh-spilt blood.

Not a breath was drawn in the room as the black velvet of Catherine's borrowed robes turned the brilliant red color of one dedicated to the service of Lunitari. As the red tide reached the edges of the robe, the garment itself began to change, transmuting from the simple robes of a novice to the ornately decorated ones of a mage Tested.

Finally, the corpse was fully clothed in the robes of a Master, robes which seemed to have grown nearly a foot when no one was looking. As soon as the robes had finished their magical transformation, the body on the bier began to shake. At first, it was a slight tremor in her hand, barely visible. The tremor grew quickly, until Catherine's entire, tiny body was wracked with intense convulsions. As her body rocked and shook, it seemed to grow longer, filling the new space created by the robes. Finally, with a last spasm, the body lay still.

Now that the horrific shaking had passed, the mages observing could see that Catherine had aged, to the point where she looked like an older teenager. She had grown in height, and her body filled out in a more adult way. Fie could not help allowing a small gasp to escape his lips at the half-elf's beauty.

After what must have been only moments, though it felt like hours, Catherine opened her mouth. She drew in a huge breath of air, sitting bolt upright simultaneously. Her eyes wide with new life, the half-elf wavered unsteadily. She looked around, attempting to take in all of her surroundings.

"I'm…" She fainted before her weak voice could finish its exclamation. With that, the uncast spell holding the mages in their places was broken. As one entity, they rushed for the bier.

* * *

Catherine strained through the fog surrounding her. Why were people calling her name? Couldn't they just leave her alone? It was bad enough that they took her away from that nice conversation she'd been having with three… people? Well, whatever they were, it was a nice conversation, and she was annoyed that she had been pulled away. And now, they wouldn't even let her rest! Dizzily, she climbed through the fog, eager to tell them all to leave her be.

* * *

The mages crowded around Catherine's prone body. Fie, Dalamar, and Jenna were calling her name. Finally, the young woman's eyes opened slowly, and she seemed to shrink back from the seven faces that surrounded her.

"What… What's going on? Where did all of those lovely people go?" The half-elf's voice was sluggish and disoriented.

Fie helped his friend sit up. She leaned heavily on him, her muscles unused to the strain of holding her body erect. "When Arash attacked you…" the young man's voice was slightly hoarse. He swallowed hard. "When he attacked you, you threw a bolt of power at the same time. You killed him. But, you were… killed in the process. The rest of what happened to you, I don't know."

"I was dead?" Kit's face was blank. "But there were all those people. Such kind people. They were all so beautiful. Now, I can't remember them well anymore." Her voice was misty and confused. She shifted slightly in Fie's grasp, indicating her wish to stand up.

As she swung to the side of the table, she gripped it tightly so that she would not fall over. Unfortunately, she was not prepared for the new feeling of her body. As Catherine stood, she felt legs too long and a chest too heavy pulling her off of her center of equilibrium. Even with her firm hold on the table with a hand longer than it used to be, she would have fallen over had not Dalamar and Fie each grabbed an arm to keep her upright.

After she regained her balance, Kit seemed to notice the changes that her body had undergone for the first time. Her breathing increased as she stared down at a floor that was much farther down then it had been, past robes of a completely different color than the ones she'd become accustomed to.

"What have you done to me?" She looked around with despairing eyes.

"I am sorry." Dalamar's voice was soothing. "I did not know the side effects of the spell."

"I did not know, and still don't, but it is simple enough to surmise." Raistlin's voice was dry, reminding all with a jolt that more than one person had returned from a presumed death. "Most likely, the price for your life was years from it. None can enter the realms of the gods without returning unchanged," Raistlin said bitterly. "Thus, when you were brought back to the realm of the living, your body changed to reflect the years lost."

"As to the robes, the inference is more abstract, but not impossible to make. My guess would be that in destroying Arash and dying, you were Tested by the gods of magic. Usually, the Test is performed by the members of the Conclave in a somewhat controlled environment, but it is not unheard of for novices to emerge from ordeals as Masters. Thus, you now wear the robes of a true mage, and the gods saw into your heart and placed you within the Order of the Red Robes."

"It's … it's … too much…" Catherine said, clutching her head as though trying to rip out the offending knowledge. "It can't be… But it must be…" All of a sudden, she seemed to remember something. "The battle! Have we won?"

She looked frantically about at the assembled mages. "Fighting continued for several days after you … your fight," Dalamar explained. "We would not have been able to bring you back had we not cast the spell today. For now, the battle continues, neither side gaining much ground. I do not know how much longer we can resist Chaos."

"Why are you wasting your time and energy on me then?" The resurrected woman sounded slightly hysterical. "We need to return to the battle!"

* * *

Catherine was glad that there was a long ride back to Palanthas. She needed time to think. So many things had happened to her in the past couple of hours. Life was not an easy thing to get used to after death was experienced!

Almost as soon as she'd mentioned returning to battle, the half-elf regretted it. The others seemed to take that as a sign that she was fully recovered, and hustled her out of Par-Salian's manor to where the dragons were. While they did help support her while she walked, she still felt dizzy and achy from using nerves and muscles that had been deserted for three days. She was glad that she was secured onto Fie's dragon, with the young man holding onto her from behind so that she wouldn't fall.

Fie holding onto her… That was another problem. Apparently, the gods had taken several years off of her life for having stayed in the Realm of the Dead. Now, she was plunked back on Krynn in the middle of a hormonal battle nearly as earth-shattering as the one occurring with Chaos.

First of all, there was this new body of hers. Besides being much too tall, it was much differently shaped then the one she'd vacated only three days prior. It was hard enough to get long-unused muscles to work in the first place, much less learn how to use them in a completely different way.

Then, of course, she was abruptly aware of people in a way she'd never been before. She had come to the sudden realization that she found Fie really handsome compared to many of the guys she'd known in her life. Embarrassingly, she also was aware of how intensely attractive her father was. She shoved that disturbing thought out of her head quickly.

Was this how the girls in school she'd always despised felt? Granted, they'd actually had time to adjust to the hormones coursing through their more mature bodies, but Catherine felt herself gaining a sort of empathy towards them. She shook her head. She did not want to think about this now.

Instead, her mind wandered to the fact of her resurrection. From all that Dalamar had taught her, necromancy was expressly forbidden by all of the gods of magic. How could Dalamar have performed the spell, much less gotten mages from the rest of the Conclave to help him? Did the gods make an exception? But why in the world would they do that for her, insignificant half-breed Catherine? It did not make any sense.

Could she be meant to die later in the Chaos war? Suddenly, she was afraid. If she had been brought back just to die again in another few weeks, she would rather have been left for dead in the first place. While death was not bad, as far as she could remember it, she found life all the more precious now. It was true, in Death, you could speak to scholars of the ages. But in Life, the people were tangible. All of the people that Catherine had come to love in the past few months were in the world of the living. Catherine had no wish to wait for all of them to die!

It was just too bad if they'd brought her back for that reason, Catherine decided. She would just not fight. Fie and her father would understand, and they could handle the rest of the Conclave. If nothing else, she could make the excuse of being too weak still, which in all probability, was currently true.

It did not take long for Catherine's thoughts to blur into a confused mess of concepts swirling through her mind. After only a few minutes in the air, she leaned back closer to Fie as she fell asleep in his arms.


	16. My Life is Made of Patterns

**Disclaimer:** Oh, were these characters yours? You really shouldn't be so careless with them. Someone could steal them!

**A/N:** Wow, last chapter. I just wanted to thank all of you who have made this journey with me. And a journey it has been, through life, through writing styles, through time. Thanks to my beta, Valgorúth, for all of his wonderful work, and his help in making me a better writer. And thank you, to everyone who has been reading this, for your support and your help throughout the years.

**My Life is Made of Patterns That Can Scarcely Be Controlled**

When Catherine woke up, she was cuddled embarrassingly within Fie's arms. She straightened up as much as her weak muscles would allow with a muttered "Sorry," glad that he couldn't possibly see her burning cheeks. Trying to get distracting thoughts out of her head, she looked down. She realized that they were just arriving back at the Library, and it was Snowfire's descent that had awakened her.

Kit's brain was still sluggish as she processed the images below her, but when she was done, she wished that she hadn't. The carnage at the battle scene below was horrible, and utterly beyond anything that the half-elf had ever even conceptualized. She could not contain a shudder and a gasp of horror, and Fie tightened his grip on her. Despite her inner turmoil, Kit could not say that she wasn't glad for his warm comfort.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine." It wasn't until Fie spoke that Catherine realized that her muscles tensed and she had begun to breathe harder. She attempted to calm her nerves, though she didn't try to move from his arms.

"I… I don't want to die again." It was hard for Catherine to admit this, but if anyone deserved to know her feelings, it was Fie. The arm that wasn't resting around her waist rubbed her arm soothingly.

"You're safe. Everything will be all right. I've learned a bunch of new spells, and once we get to the Library, you can go rest." As he spoke, Fie had to take a moment to shoot a spell at a horror that was descending from the sky. Another shudder wracked Kit's body as it plummeted towards the ground.

Catherine closed her eyes, trying to will herself not to cry. Due to the events of the past few hours, though, it didn't quite work. By the time that Snowfire was safely on the ground behind the shields, Kit could no longer hide the sobs that were tearing at her petite body.

Fie caught her as she slid off of the dragon and held her close, murmuring in the general direction of her ear. Half carrying her, he led the distraught young woman towards the Library. Dalamar held the door without comment. Fie didn't let Kit collapse until they reached the room where she had stayed before her death. While they had been away, someone (Astinus?) had put an extra mattress on the spare bed, and piled on soft-looking blankets and pillows.

Gratefully, Catherine collapsed onto the bed, sitting with her head in Fie's shoulder as she cried in pain and anger and general confusion. She was amazingly embarrassed by the fact that she was showing such raw emotion, but simultaneously she realized that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Surrendering to her rampant emotions, Kit just let herself continue to cry as Fie held her tightly.

"It's all right. No one will make you go out there. We didn't bring you back just to lose you again!" He rubbed her back soothingly. Kit hiccoughed, finally attempting to get a hold of herself.

"Really?" She knew how dumb she sounded, but she could not help asking the question that had been plaguing her waking moments since life had been returned to her. "I wasn't brought back to finish the war?" She hated the way her voice was breaking, hated the weakness she was showing, hated that she could do absolutely nothing about it in the end.

"No." Fie forced her to look up at him. "Dalamar wasn't very clear with me about why you were brought back, but I am pretty sure it wasn't for any immediate cause. I know the gods bent the rules for some reason, but this war is not it. And if it is, I won't let them do anything to you anyway. The gods have interfered enough in your life with that stupid prophesy, and I refuse to let them ruin it again." He hugged her tightly around the shoulders. "Now, you need sleep."

Suddenly too weary to protest, Catherine allowed Fie to help her climb under the many covers. By the time the young man had reached the door Kit was already mostly asleep, despite the turmoil within her mind.

* * *

After he left Kit, Fie went to find Dalamar. The older mage was outside, surveying the battlefield. "You didn't bring her back for her to die, did you?" Fie's tone was belligerent.

"Of course not!" Dalamar sounded offended at the very thought. "The gods allowed me to return my daughter to the realm of the living because she had not been fated to die at that point. That is all." Wisely, Dalamar made no mention of his suspicion that his daughter was to provide a check on the dangerous unknown that was Fie's power.

Satisfied, Fie stalked away to his own room to be alone with his thoughts. While he knew that he needed sleep before he could do anything useful, sleep would not be immediate in coming. He was too confused about everything that had happened in the past few hours.

First of all, there was the magic. Fie knew that he needed to be wary of it, that it could consume him. When the time came to use it, though, it was not at all easy to remember that. He could still practically feel the sensation of the magic rushing through his body as Dalamar channeled the power for the necromantic spell. The blind rush of power was like an amalgamation of all the pleasurable senses he'd ever felt in his life, and yet like none of them. It was addictive, intoxicating. He knew that now that he'd experienced that kind of power, he could never go back to more mundane uses for magic, let alone giving it up in any way at all.

And then there was Catherine. He had never really been attracted to anyone before, at least not in the real way. Over the last few months, however, he'd learned to love her personality. And now, all of a sudden, she was no longer in the body of a seven year old. Fie didn't quite know how to deal with those thoughts. Finally, he managed to push them aside and allow sleep to overtake him.

* * *

In the morning, the mages met in front of the Library once more. Dalamar, Fie, and Jenna looked refreshed. Catherine seemed to glow with life, as she looked around at the broken and damaged surroundings with the awe of one who never truly appreciated beauty before. She was also much steadier on her feet, after a night of coping with her new body.

"The sun… It is so beautiful…" Catherine looked up, through the smoggy haze that seemed to perpetually coat the battlegrounds. "I never really noticed before."

The half-elf's reverie was broken harshly by Chaos. Apparently, he had decided that it was no longer good enough that his forces were holding the defenders of the Library in stasis, and it was time to end the battle for Palanthas.

"Foolish mortals. You actually thought you could resist me? The only reason you still live is because I have taken pleasure in watching you die painfully, one by one. No more, though. I grow impatient." The giant had appeared so suddenly that it defied logic. Now, he towered over everything, even the dragons.

Kit could not contain a squeal of fear as she faced a being so much more fearsome as the one who had killed her in the first place. Chaos barely spared her a glance as he nonchalantly shot a bolt of his molten essence at one of the buildings next to the Great Library. The building was incinerated within a second, not even leaving ashes in its wake.

While he seemed to take some sort of abstract pleasure out of the destruction, he did not laugh as Arash had. As unsettling as that had been, the cold indifference shown by Chaos was infinitely more terrifying. It seemed as though the only reason he cared at all for the destruction was because it was a means to an end, and it created the feeling of hopeless terror that was his glory.

"Do none of you have the backbone to stand up to me? I know not what my children see in you insipid, vacuous little maggots. It matters not. You will be dead soon enough either way."

A soft padding sound was heard behind the defenders of the Library. "No, we won't be." The voice which spoke was calm and collected.

Evelynn walked calmly in the space which Dalamar quickly vacated for her. Just as tranquilly, she passed through the shield and directly up to Chaos. She had left the ill-fitting suit of armor behind, and was dressed instead in a simple robe of white. She had a light sword that did not seem to encumber her too much.

Chaos looked around quizzically, trying to find the source of this rebellion. Finally, his monstrous eyes alighted on the ancient elf who barely came up to his mid-calf. For a moment, Chaos could do nothing save stare at the silver-haired woman glaring at him so fiercely. Then, he burst into laughter.

"This is what you send up against me? This … This decrepit weakling? If all your champions are one such as these, it will be mere moments before I conquer Palanthas. Simple days before I wreak destruction on the rest of the world." Suddenly, Chaos gasped in shock. In his merriment, he had all but forgotten the woman who was the object of his scorn.

With a mighty effort, Evelynn had cut through Chaos' shifting skin and threw the sword away. From a pouch at her waist, she withdrew the two halves of the Greygem. Before Chaos could react, she brought one of the halves up to his leg where the Chaos essence that flowed through his veins dripped.

She had no chance to close them and finish her goal, however. With a roar of fury, Chaos grabbed the elder around her waist, his hand completely encompassing her chest and lower body. Evelynn could not contain a slight scream as she was yanked off of her feet and pulled dozens of feet into the air.

"You actually thought that you could defeat me with that pitiful toy of your puny gods?" He began to squeeze. The people on the ground could do nothing save stare with helpless horror.

"Do something!" Catherine whispered desperately to Fie. "You must be able to!"

Fie shook his head. "I can do nothing against him. At least not yet. I don't know any spells strong enough." He put his arm around Catherine, pulling her close, shielding her from the sight.

In Chaos' grip, Evelynn struggled desperately. Luckily, she's had the instantaneous reaction to raise her arms so that they wouldn't be pinned to her sides, but she could not help a desperate effort to reclaim the life that was being squeezed from her body. Finally, she fell still, realizing that her effort was only making the pressure on her ribs and lungs worse. She turned her attention to the task she'd originally been attempting, the joining of the shorn Greygem.

She lifted her arms from where they had been hanging limp against Chaos' immense fist. Once her arms were parallel with her shoulders, however, she began to feel resistance. Straining against the force of the Greygem, she moved the halves together slowly, inch by inch. As she moved the Greygem closer to itself, she hoped that she would be able to join the halves before she was crushed.

Evelynn felt her mind slowly disconnecting from her body, abstracting itself from the pain through one of the meditative techniques she'd learned as a girl. As her arms strained to push the Greygem together, her mind strained to calm itself, to come to terms with her impending death. She thought about her life, what it was, what it could've been.

Finally, her mind cleared of its morass of pain. She realized that, looking back, there was very little that she would've done differently. Yes, there had been pain in her life, but there was pain in all lives. She had been able to experience so much joy as well, and she was content with that.

As her mind reached that moment of clarity, her arms slammed the halves of the Greygem together. Instantly, Chaos' grip tightened spasmodically as he felt his spirit being pulled into the newly whole gem.

Evelynn gasped and her back arched. She could no longer going to absent herself from the pain, and she could feel her ribs collapsing. After a either a second or an hour of excruciating pain, suddenly Evelynn ceased to feel the pain. The gloom of the battlefield evaporated, and Chaos no longer held her in a grip of death. She stood in a field of infinite beauty, and her white robes were no longer sullied with dirt. She suddenly realized that her robes had gone from the simple style that anyone could've worn to a fancier style that only the higher orders of clerics wore.

For a moment, she was so distracted by her own appearance, that she did quite register her surroundings. Then, she looked up. Coming towards her were two men, one cloaked in pure light, one in darkness. The light one she recognized almost immediately; it was the avatar in which Paladine had first appeared to her – Fizban. She looked at him in wonder, the faith lost long ago restored at seeing his infinitely kind, infinitely wise face.

Her recognition of the other man was delayed only by the time it took for her to tear her gaze away from Paladine's holy face. When she finally did, she had to take a step back. She had so long since dared to hope…

"Fie…"

* * *

As Chaos dissolved into nothing and his being was taken into the jail of the Greygem, Evelynn's limp body fell to the ground with a sickening crack. As her body hit the hard ground, a last breath of life left her body in a sigh audible to all in the battlefield.

"Fie…" There was a small smile on her face and a peaceful look in her staring eyes that were attached to a neck twisted in an unnatural direction.

* * *

Dalamar had watched the battle with trepidation. What if Evelynn failed? He watched in helpless horror as Chaos began to squeeze Evelynn's body, and time seemed to slow as she pushed the halves of the Greygem together. Chaos' creatures stopped attacking, the knights held back, and even the dragons suspended in midair slowed their motions as much as possible as they waited with baited breath.

After moments or hours and what seemed to be a colossal effort, Evelynn finally succeeded in drawing together the two halves of the Gem. Dalamar sighed in relief, barely even feeling a twang of remorse that the woman that had saved them all was dying a painful, horrific death. Chaos was trapped within the Greygem once more, and both he and his minions began to fade from the mortal plane of existence. The Greygem fell to the ground, along with Evelynn's body, and as it rolled along the torn, broken ground, the crack around its circumference healed itself.

Evelynn's head jerked back unnaturally. "Fie…" Her last breath spoke of awe and peace.

Dalamar picked the Greygem up off of the ground and put it into one of his pouches for safekeeping. The Conclave, or those left of the Conclave, could figure out how to deal with it at a later point.

* * *

Dalamar, Raistlin, Catherine, and Fie trudged back to the Tower on foot, all too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to suggest the use of magic. Upon their return, they all collapsed immediately into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Catherine awoke to a pounding on her door. Groggily, she crawled out of bed, ready to curse the intruder into oblivion. "Go 'way," she demanded as she opened the door.

"Did you just wake up?" Fie sounded astonished and just a little bit disdainful.

"And if I did? Why? What time is it?" Catherine was surprised to remember that she only had to look up a couple of inches to meet Fie's eyes, rather than over a foot. She smoothed her hair absently, making a futile attempt to calm the sleep-induced tangles.

Fie looked at her oddly. "It's nearly noon."

"Oh…" Catherine sounded slightly embarrassed, but she recovered quickly. "So? If you had just gotten resurrected, you would need sleep too," she said snappishly, only half-joking.

"That is what I wanted to talk to you about." Fie swept past her into the room, disregarding the fact that she was still wiping the sleep from her eyes. "What was death like?" He plopped down onto her bed, eyes wide with curiosity.

Catherine grabbed her brush, and began to comb the tangles out of her hair. "I really don't want to talk about it right now." She faced the mirror, not looking at Fie at all. "Even if I did, I don't think I could put it into words." She sighed.

"Sure you could. Why don't you want to talk about it?"

Kit looked at her friend sharply. She didn't like the way he seemed to disregard the feelings of all around him when he was in pursuit of knowledge. She liked learning things as much as the next person, more even, but she respected personal boundaries!

"I don't want to talk about it because I don't. It's private. I'm still coming to terms with it myself, and I need to think about it alone. I appreciate the support, but when it comes down to it, I need to handle this myself." As she spoke, the half-elf realized how sharp her voice must've sounded. Fie was out the door before she could apologize.

* * *

Raistlin was reading a book in his study, occasionally glaring at all of the spellbooks lining the walls that he could no longer read. At the soft knock, he looked up. "Enter."

Fie walked into the room, his hands hidden within the sleeves of his dark robe. "Master, I wish to learn more." His voice was cold, and had an odd, unreadable timbre. His eyes were hard, and the light in the room seemed to glance off of them.

Raistlin barely spared the boy a glare. "Can't you see, I'm busy? Later you will have your lesson."

"Ah, yes. You always put everyone else after yourself. How foolish of me to forget. All of that lovely knowledge that you can't even use any more, and you want to keep it for yourself."

Raistlin felt a chill run through his soul. History was repeating itself, and he was helpless to stop its relentless tide. "I don't wish to keep it all to myself, Fie. It is merely not time for you to learn all of it."

As Fie approached his desk, Raistlin realized that he had never felt more helpless in his life. Before he knew of his magic, his twin was always there to ensure his safety. After he learned how to harness his magic, of course, he had always had its security. Without it, he felt naked, weak. He still had his wits, but there was very little he could do with them.

Fie glided closer to the desk, a nasty smirk on his face. "No, it would never be time, would it? I would have to learn to appreciate the power, harness it 'properly.' Well, I do appreciate it. If I don't have it, how can I harness it? You're all too weak to try. Even you, reputed to have been so goddamned powerful. Well, now the knowledge will belong to someone who can use it."

Before Raistlin could respond, Fie whispered the words of a spell, and Raistlin felt phantom ropes securing him to the chair. Even though he knew the futility of it, he struggled against the ropes as Fie watched with a silent sneer. Finally, Raistlin grew still with a sign of weariness and resignation.

"Don't do this. It is not worth it. You may gain knowledge, but you will also scar your soul, and that you will never be able to reconcile." Raistlin was only able to keep himself from shaking by an immense expenditure of will power as Fie made the chair float to the center of the room.

"Not worth it? Of course it is worth it. I know that you have secrets that you would never share with me. I know that you fear me, fear the magic within me. Well, you were right to." Fie finally removed his hands from his sleeves, and revealed a deep red stone clutched in one fist.

Fie's eyes looked past Raistlin, seeing into the depths of his mind for a spell. He slowly placed the bloodstone on Raistlin's chest, which was suddenly rising and falling much more quickly than it had been before. Slowly, yet confidently, he began chanting the words. The words that Raistlin had known so well in his youth, had used so artfully.

As Fie chanted, Raistlin felt a great pain throughout his entire body. He could not contain a scream as his back arched, yanking his limbs against their invisible restraints. He felt years and years of knowledge being ripped from his brain. He felt his body sinking, shrinking even closer to his gaunt frame as the only thing that had been worth living for was cleaved from him. His face became a mask of death, skin stretched tight over hard bones. He felt the life leaving his body.

Finally, the pain abated. He knew that he had only seconds left on the mortal plane. Gasping, he drew in one final, painful, rasping breath. "Thus, the circle turns again. Thus is the cycle complete." His head snapped back, and the former archmagus began to laugh.


End file.
